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//        — 


The  Old  Plantation 


How  We  Lived  in  Great  House 
and  Cabin  Before  the  War 


BY 


JAMES  BATTLE  AVIRETT 

Author  of  "Ashby  and  His  Compeers,"  "Who  Was 
the  Traitor?"  etc. 


F.   TENNYSON    NEELY   CO. 


NEW  YORK 


CHICAGO 


LONDON 


C! 


Copyright,  1 90 1, 

by 

JAMES  BATTLE  AVIRETT. 


THIS  VOLUME  IS  GRATEFULLY  AND  AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTER  AND   HIS  WIFE— 

THE  ONLY  REAL  SLAVES  ON  THE  OLD  PLANTATION 

OF  MANY  OVERGROWN  CHILDREN,  SERVANTS 

ON  THE  ESTATE,  FROM  1817  TO  1865 — 

THE  FATHER  AND  MOTHER  OF 

THE  AUTHOR. 


t   .  '■ 


INTRODUCTION. 


Action  and  reaction — ebb  and  flow — seem  to  be  the 
rule  of  life  in  its  varied  manifestations.  Winter  and 
Summer — Seedtime  and  Harvest,  with  their  death  into 
life — are  in  striking  illustration  of  this  rule.  To  the  be- 
numbing influences  of  that  form  of  imperialism  which 
swept  over  Europe,  holding  down  as  in  a  vise  all  effort 
at  asserted  individuality  in  citizenship,  the  student  of 
history  and  its  philosophies  will  recollect,  came  slow  but 
sure  reaction.  Coming  in  form  of  the  French  Revolution, 
it  was  far,  very  far,  from  being  an  unmixed  blessing. 
It  liberated  the  individual  from  everybody  and  every- 
thing but  himself.  This  it  was  powerless  to  do,  because  in 
its  chaos  it  refused  to  recognize  the  condition  precedent  of 
all  healthful  life.  It  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  great  truth, 
in  its  blind  worship  of  Eeason,  that  Order  is  Heaven's 
I  first  Law.  A  power  so  strong  as  this  social  cyclone,  work- 
i  ing  in  the  orbit  of  human  weakness,  could  not  be  confined 
]  to  France.  It  overleaped  the  channel  and,  though  strongly 
resisted  by  the  conservative  forces  of  Anglo-Saxon  Eng- 
land, it  has  left  its  influence  upon  that  virile  polity  which 
had  successfully  withstood  the  mutations  of  centuries. 
Intrenching  itself  in  Exeter  Hall,  London^  it  threw  its 


vi  Introduction. 

forces  across  the  Atlantic  and  fortified  them  in  Fanueil 
Hall,  Boston.  And  thus  it  came  about  that  it  was  the  be- 
numbing shadows  of  the  French  Kevolution,  in  itA  con- 
tempt for  law,  order  and  precedent,  which  left  such  giants 
in  the  state  as  Mr.  Webster,  and  Bishop  Hopkins  of 
Vermont  in  the  Church  without  a  counteracting  follow- 
ing. Thus  it  was  that  the  John  Brown  Eaid,  called  into 
being  by  that  bold,  bad,  strong  book,  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin," 
proved  to  be  the  avant-coureur  of  the  Civil  War. 
,  This  fearful  struggle  between  the  two  sections,  North 
and  South,  closed  in  one  of  its  forms  many  long  years 
ago.  Pending  this  long,  dark  period  of  suffering,  in- 
volving a  proud  people  in  some  forms  of  sorrow,  keener 
far  than  that  known  to  either  Poland  or  Hungary,  in  the 
manumission  and  enfranchisement  of  a  race  inferior  both 
from  heredity  and  servility,  the  South,  possessing  her  soul 
in  patience,  has  waited.  Yes !  wretchedly  misunderstood, 
we  have  waited  for  the  pendulum  of  public  opinion  to 
swing  around  to  our  side  of  the  arc.  God  only  knows  in 
what  bitterness  of  heart  we  have  waited.  We  have  waited 
in  full  loyalty  to  the  Government,  both  State  and  Federal, 
and  though  in  waiting  we  may  not  have  grown  strong, 
yet  we  have  waited  long  enough,  under  the  inspiring  ex- 
ample and  memory  of  the  Christian  Lee  at  Lexington, 
Virginia,  to  be  full  of  hope  that  the  tide  is  now  setting 
in  from  the  high  seas  of  error,  and  that  the  day  of  our 
vindication  in  the  world's  judgment  is  nigh  at  hand. 

Men,  very  thoughtful  men,  lacking  in  no  element  of 
manly  loyalty  to  the  powers  that  be,  are  free  to  assert  that 
in  the  reaction  which  has  set  in,  erroneous  views  as  to  the 
causes  which  led  up  to  the  war,  as  well  as  the  facts  in  its 
conduct,  are  giving  place  to  the  truth.  The  Supreme 
Court  of  the  country,  in  its  appellate  jurisdiction  of  last 


Introduction.  vii 

resort,  is  affirming  and  reaffirming  the  constitutional 
doctrine  of  Statehood  in  its  distinct  autonomy.  Public 
opinion  from  the  lakes  to  the  gulf,  is  voicing  American 
utterance  as  to  the  superiority  of  the  Caucasian  race. 
From  ocean  to  ocean  there  is  a  growing  recognition  that 
the  tide  has  turned,  in  the  steadily  increasing  thrift  of 
the  South.  And  thus  it  would  seem  to  be  that  all  things 
come  to  him  who  waits. 

The  writer  of  this  book,  the  chaplain  on  the  staff  of 
that  matchless  Cavalier,  Gen.  Turner  Ashby,  Chief  of 
Cavalry  under  Stonewall  Jackson,  has  patiently  waited 
for  nearly  forty  years  to  tell  his  own  story.  While  envy, 
hatred  and  malice  ruled  the  hour,  he  well  knew  that  it 
would  be  worse  than  "Love's  Labor  Lost,"  to  do  anything 
but  wait — bide  his  time.  He  has  waited  until  he  hears 
falling  from  the  lips  of  the  distinguished  Senator  Hoar 
of  Massachusetts  largely  the  same  arguments  in  his  op- 
position to  the  imperialism  at  Manila  as  were  employed  by 
Southern  .senators  in  the  United  States  Senate  in  the 
spring  of  1861.  He  has  waited  until  Colonel  Henderson 
of  the  British  Army,  in  his  "Life  of  Stonewall  Jackson," 
has  placed  Lee's  lieutenant  in  the  forefront  of  the  world's 
great  captains ;  and  in  doing  so  he  has  shown  in  a  very 
striking  manner  that  the  appeal,  which  the  silence  of  the 
South  has  slowly  brought  about,  is  largely  vindicatory 
of  her  men  and  measures.  He  has  waited,  until  the  social 
conditions  at  the  South  before  the  war  are  necessarily 
assuming  the  misty  forms  of  traditions,  and  will  presently, 
unless  rescued,  become  to  the  oncoming  generations  of 
the  South  as  mythical  as  much  of  the  Roman  and  Grecian 
stories.  He  has  waited  until  to  wait  longer  would  be 
treasonable  to  duty.  Having  waited  long,  he  now  writes 
in  loyalty  to  past  generations  of  the  South — such  men 


viii  Introduction. 

*  ■ 

and  women  as  those  from  whom  sprang  such  pure  patriots 
as  Robert  E.  Lee  and  Stonewall  Jackson,  and  that  incom- 
parable army  of  Northern  Virginia  and  their  comrades 
in  gray  all  over  the  Southland. 

In  vindicating  his  people  from  the  ignorant  aspersions 
of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  and  kindred  exhalations  from  a 
distempered  brain,  he  indulges  in  no  criminations  or  re- 
criminations. To  the  ex  'parte  statement  of  this  gifted 
member  of  a  very  gifted  family,  he  simply  says  what  the 
good  old  Common  Law  has  said  in  all  its  wise  judgments, 
"Audi  alteram  partem/' — the  wisdom  of  which  legal 
maxim  is  further  promulged  by  that  higher  injunction, 
"Judge  nothing  before  the  time." 

The  author,  a  University  man  and  bred  to  the  law, 
has  given  nearly  forty  years  of  his  life  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Episcopal  Church.  We  would,  therefore,  expect  a 
thoughtful  book  from  him.  Born  and  reared  to  full  man- 
hood on  one  of  the  largest  plantations  on  tidewater, 
North  Carolina,  one  will  see  that  with  him  is  the  great 
advantage  of  writing  as  an  eyewitness,  and  not  from  hear- 
say or  second  hand.  Urged  to  write  this  book  by  such 
men  of  the  South  as  the  late  United  States  Senator  Vance 
of  North  Carolina.,  and  encouraged  therein  by  the  Bishop 
of  Central  New  York  and  others  of  his  Northern  friends, 
we  think  he  has  justified  their  appreciation  of  his  capacity 
for  this  work. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  he  takes  hold  of  none  of 
the  many  weak  threads  in  the  sensational  and  overwrought 
story,  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  which  he  might  well  have 
done  by  showing  that  the  worst  character  in  the  book  is  a 
New  Englander,  while  the  best  is  largely  the  product  of 
those  social  forces  which  Mrs.  Stowe  is  undermining.  He 
simply  tells  you  how  the  servants  on  his  father's  estate 


Introduction.  ix 

iwere  treated,  and  unfolds,  under  that  "treatment,  the 
gradual  uplift  of  a  pagan  race  to  that  point  of  high  char- 
acter which,  in  the  judgment  (?)  of  those  in  power,  fitted 
them  for  all  the  high  duties  of  that  citizenship 'so  grace- 
fully adorning  such  men  as  Chauneey  Depew  and  Mark 
Hanna. 

In  laying  the  scene  of  his  recitals  on  his  father's  plan- 
tation he  is  fortunate  in  knowing  whereof  he  speaks,  and 
he  does  not  intimate  that  the  treatment  of  the  servants 
there  was  in  anywise  more  humane  than  elsewhere  in  the 
South.  In  his  painstaking  portrayal  of  the  social  condi- 
tions on  this  plantation,  of  which  he  could  write  both 
creditably  and  intelligently,  he  says :  "Ex  uno  disce  omnia." 

Of  all  the  arguments  in  his  contention  with  Mrs.  Stowe 
and  all  her  kidney,  our  author  uses  this  one  most  tellingly. 
He  says  if  the  system  of  labor  on  Southern  estates  was  so 
cruel  and  barbarous,  if  the  negroes  were  slaves  abject  and 
not  servants  trusted  and  well  cared  for,  why  was  it  that 
when  the  Southern  homes  were  stripped  of  their  defenders, 
then  in  the  Confederate  armies,  the  negroes  did  not  reenact 
the  bloody  scenes  of  San  Domingo — why  did  they  not  rise, 
with  blazing  torch  in  hand,  and  kill  and  burn?  By  so 
doing,  in  eight  and  forty  hours  they  could  have  broken  up 
the  organized  Confederate  armies  in  front  of  Richmond 
and  Atlanta,  whose  soldiers  would  have  rushed  back  home 
to  protect  their  wives  and  children.  And  yet,  not  one 
single  torch  of  incendiarism  was  kindled.  If  any  change 
came,  the  negroes  of  the  old  plantation,  conscious  of  their 
power,  were  more  loyal  and  tenderly  dutiful  than  at  any 
time  in  their  history. 

No!  no!  The  truth  is,  as  shown  on  these  pages,  the 
institution  had  knit  the  hearts  of  the  two  races  together 
too  tenderly,  in  the  happy  life  on  the  old  plantation,  to 


x  Introduction. 

suggest  to  either  race  any  such  bloody  event.  The  negro 
of  the  South  to-day  knows,  that  when  in  trouble  his  best 
friend  is  his  old  master  or  his  children;  and  if  left  alone 
by  those  who  understand  neither  race  at  the  South,  he 
would  reflect  this  knowledge  in  all  the  relations  of  life 
and  the  race  problem  of  the  South  would  be  solved — not  in 
the  penalties  of  odious  lynch  law,  but  in  the  displace- 
ment of  the  fiendish  crimes  which  lead  up  to  it. 

Hunter  McCKjire,  M.D., 
Late  Surgeon-in-Chief  to  General  Stonewall  Jackson. 

Richmond,  Va. 


THE   OLD    PLANTATION. 


jr 


-■:':■:■ : 


CHAPTER  I. 


"Let  fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past  which  she  cannot  destroy, 
"Which  come  in  the  night  time  of  sorrow  and  care 
And  bring  back  the  features  which  love  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled, 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distilled — 
You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase,  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still." 

To  the  carefully  discriminating  mind  nothing  can  be 
clearer  than  the  following  proposition:  At  Gettysburg,  at 
Chickamauga  and  elsewhere,  every  memorial  stone, 
cemented  with  gratitude  for  patriotic  devotion  to  country, 
which  has  been  erected  either  by  Government  or  individuals, 
is  in  strong  attestation  of  the  social  forces  and  political 
conditions  which  made  the  armies  of  the  United  States 
such  terrible  realities. 

At  the  South  in  Richmond,  Virginia,  in  Winchester,  in 
Raleigh,  North  Carolina,  in  fact  all  over  the  broad  area 
embraced  by  the  Confederacy,  every  effort  made  to  per- 
petuate the  memories  of  the  wearers  of  the  gray — every 
grassy  hillock  in  God's  acre  or  elsewhere  marking  the  last 
bivouac  of  the  men  who  followed  Lee,  Jackson  and  others 
— proclaims  in  trumpet  tones  the  strength  of  the  silent, 
subtle  forces  which  underlay  the  grand  struggle  for 
Southern  independence,  expressed  in  separate  and  distinct 
autonomy. 

It  is  both  fitting  and  just  that  these  stones  should  have 
been  so  raised  on  both  sides.  The  carping  criticism  which 
would  deny  to  either  the  precious  privilege  of  honoring 
its  dead  is  foreign  to  the  patriotic  devotion  which  called 


2  The  Old  Plantation.  ' 

into  existence  those  martial  hosts  which  shook  the  conti- 
nent in  1861  and  '65.  It  is  eminently  natural  and  proper 
that  both  sections,  which  were  lately  arrayed  in  such  bitter 
hostility,  should  accord  to  and  join  with  each  other  in  those 
high  and  hoiy  observances  which  perpetuate  the  fame  of 
those  men,  now  rapidly  becoming  the  property  of  a 
common  country.  The  time  is  nigh  at  hand  when  all 
over  this  broad  land  the  proud  distinction  of  American 
citizen,  so  nobly  worn  by  Eobert  E.  Lee,  Stonewall  Jack- 
son, Forrest,  Hampton,  et  id  omne  genus,  will  cause  a 
thrill  of  high  admiration,  as  well  among  the  dwellers  along 
our  northern  lakes  as  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  live  amid 
the  savannahs  of  the  South.  And  this  is  so  rightly,  be- 
cause naturally.  It  is  well  nigh  axiomatic  that  a  people 
which  does  not  cherish  with  loving  heart  the  memory  of 
ancestral  virtues  will  enrich  its  posterity  with  scant  legacy. 
i  If  then  it  be  true  that  the  memory  of  our  dead  is  a 
duty,  God  imposed  and  heaven  blessed,  is  it  not  both  wise 
and  profitable  to  analyze  these  social  forces,  which  entered 
so  largely  into  the  formation  of  the  character  of  those  noble 
men,  as  well  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  led  by  Grant  at 
the  close  of  the  struggle,  as  those  who  confronted  them 
in  battle's  stern  array  for  four  long  years,  led  bv  Lee? 
To  the  casual,  careless  observer  there  was  a  general  same- 
ness in  high  valor  and  devotion  to  duty,  as  seen  in  Han- 
cock and  Jackson  and  their  followers.  To  the  painstaking, 
patient  student  of  history  and  its  philosophies  differentia- 
tions appear,  as  deep  and  broad  as  those  which  the  care- 
ful study  of  Wellington  and  Napoleon  brings  to  light. 
If  it  is  true  that  the  child  is  the  father  of  the  man — that 
we  are  all  of  us  marvelously  molded  by  the  nursery  influ- 
ences at  the  mother's  knee — that  men  out  in  the  struggle 
with  the  world,  in  after  years,  are  largely  the  product  of 
hearthstone  forces  in  childhood,  then  must  we  seek  for  some 
cause  at  home,  in  the  structure  of  society,  some  one  or 
more  institutional  forces,  characterizing  the  environment 
and  accounting  for  the  difference  between  the  people  of 
the  North  and  South. 

It  will  not  satisfy  the  alert  mind  to  say  that  these  dif- 
ferences in  products,  customs,  habits,  propelling  powers  in 


The  Old  Plantation.  3 

every-day  life — those  subtle  differences  in  the  mainspring 
of  action — are  traceable  to  differences  in  the  climate. 
There  is  much  in  this.  In  the  economy  of  nature  the  sun, 
with  heat  and  light  differing  in  varying  degrees  of  lati- 
tude and  longitude,  stamps  these  differences  on  the  orange 
groves  of  Florida,  full  of  bloom  and  beauty,  as  well  as  upon 
the  bleak,  cold  fisheries  on  the  coast  of  Maine.  In  the 
natural  world  climate  is  self  asserting  and  supreme.  In 
the  higher  forms  of  life,  v/hen  one  passes  into  the  realms 
of  those  strong  forces  swayed  by  the  supernatural,  where 
mind  and  spirit,  acting  either  separately  or  conjointly, 
leave  their  enduring  impress,  do  we  not  meet  with  products 
which  deny  and  defy  the  strong  influences  of  climate? 
It  is  true  that  climate  has  much,  but  not  all  to  do  in 
making  us  what  we  are.  Soil  and  climate  influence  and 
determine  avocations  or  pursuits  in  life  in  no  small  degree. 
The  many  and  marked  points  of  difference  between  an 
agricultural  and  manufacturing  or  commercial  community 
determine  largely  the  habits  of  life,  modes  of  thought  and 
in  some  sense,  the  standards  of  action  characterizing  the 
two  people  of  the  North  and  South. 

At  one  time,  in  old  England  and  elsewhere  in  Europe, 
und°r.  the  unifying  forces  of  one  and  the  same  environ- 
ment, we  were  solidly  one  and  the  same  people.  When 
the  exodus  from  Europe  began  social  differences  had  al- 
ready asserted  themselves  and  to  such  a  degree  that  in 
many  respects  the  earlier  settlers  of  New  England  dif- 
fered largely  from  those  who  settled  Maryland,  Virginia 
and  the  Carolinas.  It  is  very  difficult  to  satisfactorily 
account  for  these  differences.  Climate  could  have  had  but 
little  to  do  with  those  differences  which  so  strikingly  ob- 
tained between  those  men  who  trod  the  decks  of  the  May- 
flower and  those  who  followed  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh,  that 
matchless  Cavalier,  of  whom  our  own  Lowell,  in  his  in- 
scription for  the  Ealeigh  memorial  window  in  St.  Marga- 
ret's Church,  England,  has  so  beautifully  said: 

"The  new  world's  sons,  from  England's  breast  we  drew 
Such  milk,  as  bids  remember  whence  we  came ; 
Proud  of  her  past  where  from  our  future  grew, 
This  window  we  inscribe  with  Raleigh's  fame." 


4  The  Old  Plantation. 

The  Gallic  civilization,  repressing  and  depressing,  until 
at  last  Spain,  in  the  loss  of  her  American  colonies,  has 
nigh  disappeared  from  amoDg  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
tells  its  own  story  of  the  influence  of  government  upon  the 
governed.  If  it  be  true,  that  the  character  of  the  gov- 
ernment asserts  itself  in  the  character  of  its  subjects — 
if,  in  other  words,  bad  laws  make  a  bad  people — we  think 
it  equally  susceptible  of  demonstration  that  whether  the 
word  of  God  occurs  in  the  constitutional  charter  of  its  life 
and  liberty  or  not  a  people's  religion  always  expresses  itself 
in  the  character  of  their  government. 

So  strikingly  true  is  this  that  the  gifted  John  S.  Pen- 
dleton of  Virginia  was  once  heard  to  say  that  he  never 
left  his  home  in  Piedmont,  Virginia,  and  went  as  United 
States  Minister  to  Brazil  that,  after  a  residence  of  six 
months  in  Kio  Janiero,  he  was  not  forced  to  realize  that 
he  was  a  worse  man  than  when  he  left  his  home  in  the 
United  States.  So  much  for  the  influence  of  environ- 
ment and  the  subtle  effects  of  government  and  religion 
on  the  temper  and  disposition  of  a  man.  When  crystal- 
lized, these  constitute  his  character.  It  will  appear  from 
this  line  of  thought  that  when  in  the  early  settlement  of 
this  country,  in  the  two  sets  of  colonies  of  New  England 
and  Virginia,  marked  differences  were  at  once  recognized — 
the  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier  on  social  lines  were  far 
apart.  In  the  former  of  these  two  orders  of  civilization, 
the  Puritan,  there  were  many  and  marked  excellences. 
The  world  has  rarely,  if  ever  seen  among  any  people  a 
higher  standard  of  general  thrift,  the  outcome  largely  of 
their  industry  and  frugality.  The  marked  influence  they 
have  exerted  on  the  policy  of  this  country,  because  of 
the  large  wealth  they  have  amassed,  is  a  striking  comment 
on  their  methods  and  measures  from  a  material  standpoint. 
Their  untiring  energy;  their  calm  self-contained  equi- 
poise ;  their  ability  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances 
to  give  themselves  the  full  benefit  of  their  resourceful- 
ness; in  the  main,  the  absence  of  both  breadth  of  acres 
and  fertility  of  their  landed  estates;  the  marked  intellec- 
tuality of  many  of  their  public  men,  anterior  to  and 
during  the  revolution ;  the  deep  set  influence  of  the  leadin 


rr 

a 


The  Old  Plantation.  5 

dogma  of  their  religious  faith  as  held  by  the  masterful 
Jonathan  Edwards — these  and  other  causes,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  climate,  made  the  New  England  civilization 
a  wonderful  lever  in  the  up-building  of  the  young  republic. 
And  yet  there  were  some  aspects  in  which  this  civiliza- 
tion was  very  weak.     It  is  in  a  large  measure  that  weak- 
ness which  is  always  found  in  those  conditions  caused  by 
a  dense  population,  with  its  numerous  large  towns  and 
cities,  the  outcome  of  manufacturing  and  commercial  en- 
terprises wrought  out  by  energy  into  a  marked  success. 
There  is  more  truth  than  this  materialistic  age  is  willing 
to  allow  in  the  trite  old  saying,  "That  man  made  the  town 
and  God  made  the  country."     The  various  forms  of  social 
distemper,  with  which  the  human  race  in  all  ages  have 
been  accursed,  have  had  their  origin  in  those  congested 
conditions  of  life  found  in  thickly  settled  communities. 
The  old  writer  was  not  far  away  from  the  truth  when  he 
said  that  cities  were  ulcers  and  the  smaller  towns  were 
boils  on  the  body  politic.     Men  in  closely  aggregated  re- 
lations will  do  and  dare  (mostly  evil  things)  what  they 
would  scarcely  think  of  in  segregated  homes.     The  hap- 
piest, proudest  days  of  the  republic  came  to  us  in  those 
healthier  conditions  of  smaller  cities,  with  a  scattered  popu- 
lation, when  the  pure  air  and  healthful  sunshine  of  the 
country  life  were  strong  in  the  coinage,  if  not  in  the 
Spartan  simplicity,  of  those  influences ;  when  the  criminal 
dockets  of  our  courts  were  far  shorter  and  we  had  no 
penitentiaries. 

The  Cavalier  civilization,  with  its  centers  in  the  South, 
was,  in  many  particulars,  different  from  the  Puritan.  A 
close  study  of  history  will  discover  the  fact  that  it  brought 
across  the  ocean  less  of  that  restlessness  and  more  of  that 
restfulness,  which  naturally  inhere  in  those  conditions  of 
respect  for  authority  and  precedents  than  was  found  among 
our  Northern  brethren.  The  continuity  of  these  condi- 
tions accounts  for  the  absence,  in  all  her  fair  borders,  of 
those  "isms"  which,  like  wasteful  and  destructive  parasites, 
sap  the  very  life  out  of  a  people's  faith,  both  in  God  and 
in  each  other. 

One  may  be  on  the  point  of  enquiring  what  was  it  that 


6  The  Old  Plantation. 

constituted  the  people  of  the  old  South  so  especially  a 
peculiar  people,  and,  if  not  strikingly  zealous  of  good 
works,  yet  enabled  them  to  exert  a  strong  influence  in  their 
day  and  generation?  The  ready  answer  is  close  at  hand. 
The  Southern  people,  prior  to  1865,  were  a  plantation  peo- 
ple and  were  patriarchal,  in  a  sense  and  to  a  degree  un- 
known in  any  part  of  this  country  before  or  since.  What 
enabled  them  to  lead  this  order  of  life?  Largely  of  one 
blood,  living  on  large  estates  in  thj  employment  of  their 
African  servants,  there  was  among  them,  in  the  absence 
of  manufacturing  and  large  commercial  centers,  that  free- 
dom from  restless  change,  which  can  alone  be  hoped  for 
in  any  community  in  the  perfect  absence  of  those  sharp 
antagonisms  between  Capital  and  Labor.  At  the  South 
these  two  mighty  giants,  whose  wrestlings  have  aforetime 
vexed  governments  and  overturned  empires,  were  at  peace. 
And  this  was  so  because,  to  put  it  epigrammatically,  our 
Capital  was  our  Labor  and  our  Labor  was  our  Capital. 
Hence  it  was,  in  the  old  South,  we  were  enabled  to  present 
that  enviable  condition  of  fixedness  and  stability  which 
came  of  families  living  for  generations  with  their  servants 
on  the  same  ancestral  estates.  With  us  our  household 
gods  were  not  often  removed  and,  in  consequence,  there 
attached  to  our  lares  and  penales  that  peculiar  sanctity 
and  reverence,  which  gave  rise  to  that  blessed  form  of 
friendliness,  which  will  be  long,  long  remembered,  as  the 
old-fashioned,  openhearted  Southern  hospitality. 

The  object  of  this  volume,  now  in  hand,  is  to  describe 
one  of  these  old  plantations — its  occupants,  white  and 
colored — the  exact  relations  between  the  two  races ;  the  con- 
ditions under  which  they  served  each  other;  the  character 
of  the  houses  in  which  they  both  dwelt;  what  manner 
of  food  they  ate;  their  daily  duties  and  amusements; 
their  religion;  in  fine,  to  draw  from  memory  a  picture  as 
an  eye  witness,  as  a  participant  in  and  a  creature  of  those 
social  forces  which  made  the  old  South  a  power  in  the 
land.  Gladly  would  I  draw  such  a  truthful,  detailed  and., 
minute  picture,  as  will  teach  the  young  people  of  this  and 
.oncoming  generations,  both  in  the  ISTorth  and  South,  what 


The  Old  Plantation.  7 

manner  of  men  and  women  lived  south  of  the  Susque- 
hanna river  prior  to  the  late  war  between  the  States. 

This,  to  the  writer,  in  his  old  age,  will  be  a  labor  of  love. 
Here  and  there  he  may  seem  to  dwell  on  some  feature  of 
his  recital  with  great  minuteness.  If  so,  it  is  because 
in  no  portion  of  the  world  has  there  ever  been,  or  will 
there  ever  be  again,  such  happy  social  conditions  as  for- 
merly existed  in  the  old  South  on  the  old  plantation. 

Were  it  not  that  the  present  writer  has  peculiar  advan- 
tages in  treating  his  subject — himself  in  every  fibre  of 
his  organism,  mental,  moral  and  physical,  the  creation, 
the  outcome  of  the  plantation  life — he  might  draw  back 
and  remain  silent  in  the  presence  of  the  deep  prejudice 
and  painful  ignorance  still  in  existence  against  the  in- 
stitutional life  of  his  people.  However,  he  must  write. 
He  must  tell  his  own  story  and  put  forth  a  friendly,  if  it 
be  a  weak  hand,  to  rescue  from  oblivion  the  story  of 
the  old  plantation  life.  It  is  now  to  many  people  very 
nebulous,  and  will  soon  become  so  very  misty  as  to  be 
mythical.  He  is  prompted  to  write  in  vindication  of  his 
own  people,  in  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  on  a  large 
plantation,  with  hundreds  of  servants,  his  father  and 
mother  were  the  only  two  slaves  upon  it.  Years  ago  the 
writer's  old  friend,  the  distinguished  late  Senator  Z.  B. 
Vance,  that  wonderful  tribune  of  the  people,  urged  him 
to  do  what  he  is  now  attempting — saying  that  only  the 
product  of  plantation  life  could  tell  the  story  authentically, 
as  an  eye  witness,  and  not  writing  from  hearsay  or  second 
hand. 

Recently  the  writer  has  received  letters  from  President 
Alderman,  and  ex-President  Battle  of  the  University  of 
North  Carolina,  as  well  as  from  such  distinguished  citizens 
of  the  South  as  Dr.  Hunter  McGuire  of  Virginia ;  Messrs. 
Graham  Daves,  James  A.  Bryan,  Oscar  W.  Blacknali, 
Generals  William  H.  Cheek,  and  Julian  S.  Carr;  Rev. 
Doctors  Hufham  and  Yates  of  North  Carolina — all  urs;m£ 
him  to  carry  his  book  on  to  completion.  Obliged,  after 
a  ministry  of  nearly  forty  years,  to  take  some  rest,  in 
consequence  of  failing  health,  the  writer  hopes  he  has 
elected  wisely  to  rest  by  changing  his  labor.     He  wishes 


8  The  Old  Plantation. 

most  heartily  that  he  were  younger  and  could  bring  to  the 
discharge  of  these  high  duties  the  verve  and  elan,  the  vigor 
of  more  meridian  powers ;  but,  if  much  younger,  he  would 
have  missed  the  boon  of  a  plantation  education  under 
the  purer  and  happier  days  of  the  Republic,  when  citizen- 
ship at  the  South  was  happily  exempt  from  those  .sadden- 
ing forms  of  change  and  decay  which,  in  these  latter  x 
days,  have  come  from  bad  politics  and  worse  statesman- 
ship growing  out  of  a  cheapened  and  debauched  ballot. 
It  saddens  one  to  attempt  to  realize  how  depressed  our 
own  Washington,  Hamilton,  Jay,  Jefferson  and  Madison 
would  become  could  they  come  back  to  the  once  familiar 
scenes,  which  they  glorified  by  their  high  type  of  patriotic 
devotion,  and  witness  for  themselves  the  painful  decadence 
of  citizenship,  as  well  at  the  North  by  reason  of  foreign- 
ism  as  at  the  South  because  of  the  Ethiopian  ballot. 

And  yet  we  must  not  despair  of  the  Republic.  In  no 
country,  in  the  world's  history,  have  the  vital  forces  been 
quite  so  strong  as  in  these  United  States.  There  is  a 
virgin  freshness,  combined  with  a  masculine  strength,  in 
this  young  land  of  ours  which  will  not  tolerate  the  bane- 
ful forms  of  pessimism,  and  which,  if  not  inspiring,  at  least 
suggests  that  he  is  the  true  friend  of  the  country  whose 
form  of  optimism  urges  one  to  work  on,  to  hope  on,  for 
the  best.  We  are  far  too  young  as  a  people  to  have  so  far 
crystallized  in  habits  and  views  (which  if  wrong)  as  to  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  remedy.  We  older  Southern  people 
are  proud  of  and  thankful  for  the  blessed  days  of  the  old 
South.  We  will  endeavor  to  teach  our  offspring  to  cher- 
ish the  memories  and  emulate  the  virtues  of  the  ante- 
bellum civilization.  Full  well  we  know  that  no  portion  of 
human  history  has  been  more  ignorantly  misunderstood 
or  painfully  misjudged  than  the  slaveholding  era  of  the 
South.  It  has  been  more  bitter  than  defeat  itself  to 
realize  with  sickening  certainty  the  fact  that  until  re- 
cently we  have  been  denied  the  privilege  of  setting  the 
world  right  in  the  matter  of  the  causes  which  led  up  to, " 
as  well  as  the  conduct  of  the  struggle,  whose  epitaph  the 
major  part  of  Christendom  would  write  in  the  words: 
"Lost  Cause."     Second,  sober  thought,  governmental  ex- 


The  Old  Plantation.  9 

periment  in  heretofore  untried  suffrage  problems — the 
cold  hard  facts  of  nearly  four  decades  in  our  history — are 
bringing  on  marked  changes  in  the  opinion  of  very  many 
thoughtful  people.  Some  of  the  very  best  thinkers,  men 
enlightened  by  the  culture  of  the  philosophies  of  history, 
are  already  declaring  that  it  was  only  in  the  matter  of 
physical  force  and  results  that  General  Lee  surrendered 
to  General  Grant.  That  in  the  matter  of  Caucasian  su- 
premacy and  statehood  to  us  of  the  South  it  was  not  a 
lost  cause,  because: 

"  If  lost,  'twas  false ; 
If  true,  it  was  not  lost." 

The  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  by  recent 
decisions,  is  maintaining  the  doctrine  of  the  States  with 
separate  autonomy.  Public  opinion,  North  and  South,  is 
so  dealing  with  the  vexed  race  problem  as  to  emphasize 
the  supremacy  of  the  white  man.  The  signs  of  the  times 
are  hopeful,  when,  though  sad  the  necessity,  Senator  Hoar 
of  Massachusetts,  in  antagonizing  imperialism  at  Manila 
and  elsewhere,  is  using  largely  the  same  arguments  which 
Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  employed  in  justifying  the  action  of 
the  South  in  1860  and  J61,  in  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States,  just  prior  to  the  secession  of  the  Southern  States. 


io  The  Old  Plantation.' 


CHAPTER  II. 

When"  one  crosses  out  of  the  little  State  of  Delaware 
into  the  historic  commonwealth  of  Maryland,  looking  to 
the  south  and  west,  there  stretches  away  before  him  a  mag- 
nificent domain.    Temperate  in  climate,  diversified  in  soil, 
richly  embellished  with  hill  and  dale,  in  many  respects 
it  is  unequaled  by  any  in  the  world.    It  is  traversed  by  the 
Alleghany  and  Blue  Ridge  mountains,  with  foothills  which 
gradually  lose  themselves  in  the  sea  coast  counties,  and 
is  watered  by  such  beautiful  rivers  as  will  come  to  mind 
when  you  think  of  the  Potomac,  the  James,  the  Roanoke, 
the  Savannah,  the  Alabama,  the  Rio  Grande  and  the  lordly 
Mississippi.     These  rivers  drain  large  valleys  and  water 
sheds,  whose  soil  in  many  portions  rivals  the  fertility  of 
the  Nile.    This  section  is  blessed  indeed  by  a  loving  Prov- 
idence  in   those   innumerable   medicinal    springs,    whose 
waters  are  given  for  the  healing  of  earth's  diseased  chil- 
dren.    Surely  when  one  has  familiarized  himself  with  the 
picturesque  valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  in  dear  old  Virginia ; 
or  has  allowed  his  eye  to  sweep  over  the  blue-grass  region 
of  Kentucky ;  or  has  drunk  in  the  beauties  of  that  famous 
cloudland  country  in  the  vicinity  of  Asheville,  in  western 
North  Carolina — where  the  laughing  waters  of  the  beau- 
tiful French  Broad  (mirroring  the  forms  of  the  grandest 
mountains  east  of  the  incomparable  Rockies),  go  on  their 
way  rejoicing  to  tell  it  out  to  the  sunlit  Gulf  of  Mexico — 
that  here,  in  the  old  Southland,  is  the  Eldorado  of  the 
world.     Surely  when  one  has  done  this  he  feels  like  ex- 
claiming, as  does  the    Neapolitan    when    he  looks  upon 


The  Old  Plantation.  IX 

Naples,  "Behold  this  fair  land  and  then  die,  for  there 
is  nothing  more  beautiful  to  be  seen  on  earth." 

It  does  not  lie  in  the  province  of  these  short  annals 
to  indulge  in  any  elaborate  description  of  this  famous 
section  of  our  country,  which  has  proven  such  an  impor- 
tant factor  in  the  rapid  development  of  our  young  repub- 
lic. And  yet,  common  justice  demands  that  something 
should  be  said  of  its  wonderful  products,  notably  so  of  its 
splendid  product  of  noble  men  and  fair  women,  which  has 
put  the  world  in  love  with  the  very  finest  type  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  civilization.  Think  of  her  forests,  under  the  shade 
of  whose  oaks  the  Druids  might  worship,  and  under  whose 
widespreading  beech  trees  Virgil's  fair  Amaryllis  might 
have  been  wooed  and  won.  Think  of  her  grand  old  hick- 
ories, graceful  ashes,  and  above  all  those  lordly  pines,  in 
whose  branches  the  wind  is  ever  sighing  out  the  lullaby 
of  old  ocean ;  her  magnificent  magnolias,  from  whose  flow- 
er-swayed branches,  our  incomparable  mocking-bird,  night 
and  day,  is  pouring  out  his  roundelay  of  love,  in  notes 
sweeter  far  than  these  of  the  Oriental  nightingale. 

Time  fails  one  in  telling  fully  of  the  wealth,  both  of 
the  useful  and  the  beautiful,  which  a  beneficent  Creator 
has  given  us  in  these  widespread  forests  of  the  South. 
Would  you  speak  of  flowers?  Nowhere  on  God's  green 
earth  does  the  rich,  blushing  rose  (that  century-scep- 
tered  queen  of  lovely  Flora)  reach  higher  perfection  than 
in  the  flower  gardens  of  Ealeigh,  North  Carolina,  or  in 
those  of  Pensacola,  Florida.  All  of  our  Southern  flow- 
ers, which  represent  those  exact  adjustments  of  heat  and 
light  involved  in  the  higher  ranges  of  color  and  perfume, 
find  here  their  fullest  requirements.  Would  you  speak 
of  fruits?  Think  of  the  luscious  Georgia  peach,  the 
vermeille  on  whose  cheek  equals  that  of  the  lovely  damsels 
who  pluck  and  eat  them ;  the  melons,  the  apples,  the  pears, 
the  nectarines,  the  figs,  the  apricots  and  the  luscious 
grapes,  equal  to  Eschol's  clusters,  and  her  oranges  as  well — 
in  fine,  of  all  her  fruits ;  and  while  your  mouth  waters  say 
that  nature  in  dear  old  Southland  has  done  her  best. 
Would  you  like  nuts  with  your  coffee  after  dinner?  We 
have  walnuts  of  both  varieties,  the  pecan,  the  hickory  nut, 


12  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  the  more  delicate  scaly  or  shell  bark,  the  famous  pea- 
nut, and  even  the  delicate,  dainty,  little  grass  nut  of  the 
well   appointed   Southern   garden. 

Would  you  know  how  it  comes  about  that  the  cuisine  of 
Baltimore  and  New  Orleans  is  the  wonder  and  delight  of 
the  world?  Associate  in  your  mind  the  fact  that  "all 
flesh  is  grass"  with  a  fine  sirloin  of  blue-grass  beef  in  the 
South  and  the  noble  saddles  of  Southdown  mutton  (fatted 
on  this  same  grass  and  flavored  by  browsing  the  sheep  on 
the  budding  twigs  in  our  mountain  lots),  and  you  will 
cease  to  wonder  why  both  New  Yorkers  and  Philadel- 
phians  go  to  the  White  Sulphur  and  Capon  Springs  of 
Virginia,  not  only  to  rest,  but  to  laugh  and  grow  fat  as 
well. 

Would  you  tell  me  that  the  perfection  of  fish  is  found 
in  the  markets  of  Southern  Europe,  or  to  be  had  at  Del- 
monico's  in  New  York,  or  in  Boston?  This  is  not  so. 
Grant  that  the  wealthy  people  of  the  large  Northern 
cities  demand  that  the  "pick"  of  the  Chesapeake  or  Albe- 
marle "catch"  shall  be  carried  to  them.  The  power  of 
wealth  is  very  great,  but  it  cannot  control  nature.  The 
fine  shad  and  other  varieties  are  carried,  but  in  the  car- 
riage they  lose  their  finest  flavor,  and  thus  the  millionaire 
feeds,  in  some  sense,  upon  stale  fish.  When  you  have 
eaten  the  planked  shad  in  full  view  of  the  lovely  Chesa- 
peake Bay,  or  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  enjoy  the  pom- 
pino,  that  perfection  of  the  Gulf  waters,  at  the  old  Saint 
Charles  in  New  Orleans,  you  will  understand  how  kindly 
in  her  dispensations  dear  old  dame  nature  has  been,  and 
still  is,  to  her  sunburnt,  unconventional  Southern  chil- 
dren, far  away  from  Gotham  and  "the  hub  of  civilization," 
so  called.  Before  passing  away  from  the  Southern  prod- 
ucts, let  us  not  forget  her  canvasback  duck  nor  her  dia- 
mondback  terrapin.  We  will  not  discount  that  miracle 
of  delicate  flavor  and  toothsomeness,  the  oysters  of  our 
Southern  waters,  the  perfection  of  which  is  claimed  in 
the  "Broad  Creekers"  and  the  "New  Biver  catch"  of  the 
North  Carolina  market.  At  the  South,  notably  so  in 
those  blessed  days  before  the  flood  of  1861  and  1865,  our 
very  finest  product  was  the  old-ffeshioned    ham    of    the 


The  Old  Plantation.  13 

Southern  plantation.  More  time  would  be  required  than 
can  be  given  it  in  the  description  of  those  conditions 
which  lead  up  to  this  time-honored,  ancestral  essential  to 
a  good  dinnner  in  its  full  excellence.  In  the  old  South 
no  dinner  was  in  any  sense  complete  without  that  lordly 
dish,  which  always  confronted  the  mistress  of  the  planta- 
tion at  the  head  of  the  table,  after  the  soup  and  fish  had 
been  discussed.  Later  on  we  will  take  a  slice  out  of  that 
old  ham.     Just  now  we  must  go  on. 

The  old  South  was  essentially  a  people  of  plantations, 
as  distinguished  from  farms.  Of  cities  there  were  but 
few,  and  these  not  strikingly  large.  Baltimore,  New  Or- 
leans, St.  Louis  and  Charleston  were  among  the  largest; 
and  while  there  were  other  smaller  cities  and  towns — in 
wealth,  in  political  power,  in  social  influence,  the  most 
attractive  feature  of  our  life — the  strength  and  the  charm 
were  in  the  country.  This  was  so  because  the  South  was 
strikingly  an  agricultural  people.  From  the  greater  fix- 
edness and  certainty  of  their  possessions,  in  broad  acreage 
and  numerous  servants,  few  of  her  people  had  been  stung 
by  the  gadfly  of  millionarism,  more  poisonous  than  the 
asp  which  sucked  the  blood  from  Cleopatra's  purple  veins. 
They  were  content  to  enjoy  the  profits  from  producing 
their  various  staples  of  cotton,  rice,  sugar,  tobacco,  naval 
stores  and  lumber;  they  were  content  to  live  and  let  live; 
in  doing  but  very  little  to  build  up  their  commerce  or 
manufactories,  but  allowing  others  to  transform  their 
products  for  the  markets  of  the  world  and  thus  grow 
rich. 

Pending  this  long  period  of  unwritten  agreement  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South,  the  former  producing 
largely  and  the  latter  manufacturing  the  products  of  the 
United  States,  all  Europe  stood  in  wonder  at  the  rapid 
development  in  both  sections.  The  perfect  comity  between 
the  two  demonstrated  to  the  world,  in  far  more  forceful 
form  than  dear  old  iEsop  embodied  it  in  his  striking  fable 
of  the  bundle  of  sticks,  that  "in  union  is  strength." 
Saddening  indeed  is  the  fact  that  during  a  period  of  na- 
tional dementia  sullen  sectionalism  sapped  the  Union  of 
strength  to  such  a  degree  as  to  almost  make  the  once  fair 


14  The  Old  Plantation. 

young  republic  the  laughing-stock  of  the  world.  Fortu- 
nately reaction  supervened  in  the  return  of  that  brother- 
hood, which  indeed  is  the  procuring  cause  of  our  present 
colossal  proportions. 

Having  already  glanced  at  the  extent  of  territory  em- 
braced in  the  old  South,  with  her  varied  agricultural  prod- 
ucts, her  untold  riches  in  climate  and  soil,  her  vast  re- 
sources in  forest  wealth  and  inexhaustible  mines  of  coal 
and  iron,  together  with  those  rich  contributions  both  of 
comfort  and  wealth  which  her  waters  gave  as  they  teemed 
with  life,  there  is  something  still  which  must  be  said  of 
the  richest  of  all  her  gifts  to  national  wealth — her  popu- 
lation— the  men  and  women  who  dwelt  upon  their  ances- 
tral estates. 

The  time  is  past  for  any  defense  of  African  slavey — 
an  institution  which  some  say  cannot  be  defended.  But 
it  must  be  allowed  that  its  practical  working  at  the  old 
South  among  our  ancestors  was  such,  in  the  language  of 
Mr.  Henry  Grady,  "as  to  challenge  and  hold  our  loving 
respect."  In  no  time  in  the  history  of  our  race  has  there 
ever  been  seen  a  peasantry  so  happy,  and  in  every  respect 
so  well  to  do,  as  the  negro  slaves  of  America.  We  are  to 
indulge  in  no  criminations  or  recriminations  as  to  who 
introduced  them  into  this  country.  We  are  not  now  to 
inquire  who  they  were  who  held  so  tenaciously  to  the 
carrying  trade  of  these  poor  pagans  and  (in  many  cases) 
cannibals  from  the  coast  of  Africa,  through  the  ports,  first 
of  the  colonies  and  then  of  the  United  States,  into  the 
landed  estates  of  this  country,  North  and  South.  We  are 
not  now  to  tell  it  out  to  the  world,  that  family  secret  of 
ours,  as  to  ivliat  was  the  basis  of  some  of  the  largest  for- 
tunes still  in  existence  among  us.  We  shall  be  silent  as 
to  what  portion  of  this  country  was  represented  in  Con- 
gress by  those  favoring  the  extension  or  the  abolition  of 
the  slave  trade.  We  do  not  propose  to  allow  our  family 
soiled  linen  to  be  washed  in  the  front  yard  of  the  world's 
unfriendly  criticism.  ~This  would  argue  the  absence  of  good 
taste  and  gentle  breeding  and  might  provoke  an  unpleas- 
ant state  of  affairs.  But,  guarded  as  we  may  be  in  keeping 
our  family  secrets,  it  is  both  curious  and  profitable,  if  some- 


The  Old  Plantation.  1$ 

times  humiliating,  to  note  how  murder  will  out.  Lynx- 
eyed  history  is  both  persistent  and  insistent  in  gathering 
up  and  gazetting  facts.  Among  the  ancients  Cupid  was 
represented  as  blind,  while  Justice  always  wore  a  bandage 
over  her  fair  eyes.  In  this  electric  age  history  coura- 
geously and  successfully  insists  upon  having  her  telescope 
for  long  ranged  views  of  the  truth,  while  she  will  not  be 
denied  her  microscope  for  more  minute  investigations. 

We  are  quite  willing  to  leave  the  position  which  our  fore- 
fathers at  the  South  occupied  on  this  social  question  to  the 
solemn,  God-fearing  utterances  of  history.  We  would 
simply  say  that  the  civilized  world  stood  amazed  at  the 
social  conditions  at  the  South  during  the  eventful  years 
of  1861  and  '65.  These  slaves  (so  called) — these  servants 
— during  that  time  with  loving  fidelity  guarded  the  homes 
of  their  masters,  absent  in  many  cases  with  those  armies 
that  barred  their  way  to  freedom.  This  condition  of 
affairs  has  been  so  happily  (because  forcibly,  truthfully) 
presented  by  a  distinguished  son  of  Georgia,  Mr.  Grady, 
that  extracts  are  here  made  from  his  brilliant,  brave- 
hearted  paper. 

"If  fUncle  Tom's  Cabin'  had  portra}^ed  the  rule  of  slav- 
ery at  the  South  rather  than  the  rarest  exception,  not  all 
the  armies  that  went  to  the  field  could  have  stayed  the  flood 
cf  rapine  and  arson  and  pillage  that  would  have  started 
with  the  first  gun  of  the  Civil  War.  Instead  of  that,  wit- 
ness the  miracle  of  the  slave,  in  loyalty  to  his  master,  clos- 
ing the  fetters  upon  his  own  limbs — maintaining  and  de- 
fending the  families  of  those  who  fought  against  his  free- 
dom-— and  at  night,  on  the  far-off  battlefield,  searching 
among  the  carnage  for  his  young  master,  that  he  might  lift 
the  dying  head  to  his  breast  and  bend  to  catch  the  last 
word  to  the  old  folks  at  home ;  so  wrestling  in  the  meantime 
in  agony  and  love  that  he  would  lay  down  his  life  in  his 
master's  stead.  History  has  no  parallel  to  the  faith  kept  by 
the  negro  in  the  South  during  the  war.  Often  five  hundred 
negroes  to  a  single  white  man,  and  yet  through  these  dusky 
throngs  the  women  and  children  walked  in  safety,  and  the 
unprotected  heme  rested  in  peace.    Unmarshaled,  the  black 


:6  The  Old  Plantation. 

battalion  moved  patiently  to  the  fields  in  the  morning  to 
feed  the  armies  their  idleness  would  have  starved,  and  at 
night  gathered  anxiously  at  the  great  house  to  hear  the 
news  from  master,  though  conscious  that  his  victory  made 
their  chains  enduring.  Everywhere  humble  and  kindly. 
Everywhere  the  bodyguard  of  the  helpless.  Everywhere 
the  rough  companion  of  the  little  ones.  The  silent  sentry 
in  his  lowly  cabin.  The  shrewd  counsellor.  And  when 
the  dead  came  home,  a  mourner  at  the  open  grave.  A 
thousand  torches  would  have  disbanded  every  Southern 
army,  but  not  one  was  lighted.  When  the  master,  going  to 
the  war  in  which  slavery  was  involved,  said  to  his  slave, 
(1  leave  my  home  and  loved  ones  in  your  charge/  the  ten- 
derness between  the  man  and  master  stood  disclosed.  Its 
patriarchal  features  were  revealed." 

The  Southern  people  are  daily  thanking  this  golden- 
mouthed  son  of  Georgia  for  this  and  many  other  matchless 
utterances  in  Boston  and  New  York,  as  well  as  for  his 
daily  teaching  at  home,  in  which  he  taught  each  section 
by  no  false  position,  but  by  simply  presenting  the  truth 
in  naked  majesty,  to  love  each  other  back  into  lasting  peace. 
Would  God  had  spared  him  a  few  more  years  in  his  bright 
and  beautiful  life,  to  have  beheld  with  his  own  eyes  the 
fine  fruitage  of  his  well-nigh  divine  teachings,  inspired 
by  the  matchless  example  and  vicarious  suffering  of  Lee 
at  Lexington,  Virginia,  whom  his  father  loved  and  followed 
in  the  Southern  army  confronting  Grant. 

Mr.  Grady  is  right.  It  is  simply  impossible  for  any 
Northern  man,  with  his  hired  servants,  to  comprehend  the 
facts  of  the  patriarchal  relation  between  master  and  serv- 
ant, with  its  friendliness  and  sympathy  of  the  old  planta- 
tion life. 

If  one  spoke  the  truth  of  the  regime,  in  painting  the 
picture  of  the  servants  on  these  estates,  trusted  because 
open  hearted,  sympathetic  and  full  of  innocent  gossip  and 
comradeship,  he  was  once  accounted  either  as  a  dreamer  or 
as  one  who  drew  on  his  fancy  for  his  facts.  But,  thank 
God,  this  day  is  passing  away.  As  well  under  the  shadow 
of  Exeter  Hall,  London,  as  that  of  Fanueil  Hall,  Boston, 


The  Old  Plantation.  17 

on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  the  representatives  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  civilization  are  reaching  out  for  the  truth 
in  a  way  and  to  a  degree  that  happily  characterizes  the 
closing  years  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

We  wish  to  speak  of  those  social  forces  which  were  so  ac- 
tively at  work  in  the  South  before  the  war.  There  must 
have  been  some  immense  force  in  them  to  work  out  such 
remarkable  results,  although  beleaguered  within  their  own 
area  by  the  suspicion  and  the  hostility  of  the  outside  world. 
What  are  the  facts?  Numerically  inferiol  to  the  North 
for  the  first  sixty-four  years  of  the  republic,  the  South  fur- 
nished the  President  for  fifty-two  years.  When  Great 
Britain  undertook  to  drive  us  from  the  high  seas,  before 
our  beard  had  grown,  the  South,  in  the  United  States  Sen- 
ate, forced  the  war  of  1812,  with  only  five  Northern  sen- 
ators aiding  her.  Who  commanded  our  armies  at  the 
battle  of  New  Orleans?  General  Andrew  Jackson,  a 
Carolinian.  Who  were  in  the  lead,  when  Louisiana,  with 
more  than  one  million  square  miles  of  territory,  was  ac- 
quired? Do  we  not  owe  the  acquisition  of  Florida  to  the 
same  source  ?  Who  opposed  the  war  with  Mexico,  by  which 
the  vast  empire  of  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  together  with 
California,  were  added  to  our  country?  Northern  states- 
men. Who  built  the  first  important  railway  in  this 
country?  Public  spirited  and  wealthy  men  in  Carolina. 
Where  was  the  first  college  for  girls  built  but  in  dear  old 
Georgia,  which  sent  the  first  steamship  across  the  ocean 
from  the  beautiful  little  city  of  Savannah  ?  In  the  world 
of  beautiful  nature  around  us  who  has  gone  as  deep  in 
her  secrets  among  the  birds  of  the  air  as  our  own  Audu- 
bon? Who  has  given  the  commerce  of  the  world  such 
rich  instruction  in  the  laws  of  the  winds  and  the  tides 
and  currents  of  old  ocean,  mapping  and  charting  them, 
as  Virginia's  gifted  son,  Matthew  Fontaine  Maury?  High 
up  on  the  roll  of  the  world's  great  surgeons  whose  names 
stand  higher  than  those  of  Sims  and  McDonald?  To 
whom  in  the  dark  valley  of  the  world's  great  suffering 
are  we  so  much  indebted  as  to  Crawford  Long  of  Georgia  ? 
Whence  come  John  Marshall  and  Roger  Taney,  to  contest 
.with  Judge  Story  of  New  England  the  highest  honors  and 


1 3  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  proudest  fame  on  the  Supreme  Court  Bench  of  the 
United  States,  but  from  their  Southern  homes?  Who 
emulated,  if  they  did  not  surpass,  Daniel  Webster  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  with  magnetic  thrill  and  irresist- 
ible, inexorable  logic?  Mr.  Clay  of  Kentucky,  and  Mr. 
Calhoun  and  Mr.  Hayne  of  South  Carolina. 

"Head  their  history  in  the  nation's  eyes," 

swaying  senates  and  prolonging  the  life  of  the  republic ! 
These  were  a  part  (and  only  a  part)  of  the  rich  contri- 
butions which  the  old  South  gave  to  the  young  nation  in 
trust  for  the  world.  And  while  she  was  active  in  doing 
so  much  for  the  whole  country  she  was  amassing  a  wealth 
which,  per  capita,  was  greater  than  that  of  any  other  por- 
tion of  the  Union,  save,  perhaps,  that  of  little  Rhode 
Island.  In  1861,  if  the  erring  sisters  had  been  allowed 
to  go  in  peace,  was  not  the  disturbing  question  of  the  hour : 
Whence  is  to  come  national  revenue?  Had  not  this  very 
consideration  much  to  do  with  the  policy  of  coercion? 

"Thus,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  "if  we  allow  the  Southern 
States  to  depart  from  the  Union,  where  shall  we  get  the 
money  with  which  to  carry  on  the  Government?" 

Those  of  us  who  have  survived  our  fondest  hopes  in 
many  directions  are  warranted  in  fearing  that  the  goose 
which  laid  the  golden  egg  has  been  killed.  Certainly 
this  matter  of  finance  is  one  of  the  vexed  problems  now 
confronting  us;  certainly  it  does  appear  that  the  world 
or  at  least  our  part  of  it,  is  not  growing  wiser  as  it  grows 
elder,  in  many  departments  of  most  useful  information. 
But  to  resume.  Let  it  be  said  that  the  presentation  of 
the  above  facts,  embodying  the  rich  contributions  to  na- 
tional greatness  in  most  vital,  essential  particulars  which 
were  made  by  the  old  South,  is  very  gladly  presented.  In 
justifying  our  ancestral  pride  it  emboldens  us  in  acquaint- 
ing our  children  with  their  rich  inheritance,  and  thus 
serves  to  keep  erect  among  us  high  standards  of  duty  to 
self  and  country.  It  disproves  and  forever  disposes  of 
the  loose  assertion  that  the  Southern  civilization,  shadowed 
by  and  the  product  of  the  institution  of  slavery,  was  in- 
capable of  high  achievements  and  largely  inferior  to  that 


The  Old  Plantation.  19 

j 

of  our  Northern  brethren.  It  further  shows  that  these 
Caucasians  dwelling  on  the  plantations  of  the  old  South,  in 
their  guardianship  over  the  millions  of  negroes  on  their  es- 
tates must,  in  the  main,  have  treated  their  servants  very 
kindly.  How  else  can  you  account  for  the  absence  of  crime 
during  the  war  and  the  presence  of  such  fine  forms  of  mu- 
tual kindness  among  the  older  persons  of  both  races,  as  we 
know  exists  to  this  day  ?  It  can  be  emphatically  declared, 
and  is  often  exemplified,  that  we  at  the  South,  the  old 
plantation  people  and  their  descendants,  do  love  the  race 
that  held  the  plow  which  made  the  corn  that  fed  the  cows 
which  gave  the  milk  that  we  drank  in  childhood.  It 
is  painful  to  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  induce  those  for- 
eign to  our  condition  fully  to  realize  this  as  a  fact,  but  we, 
and  the  negroes  themselves,  know  that  it  is  so ;  and  we,  for 
the  present,  must  be  contented.  More  light  is  coming 
in.  Booker  Washington  in  Alabama,  and  others  like  him, 
will  go  on  vindicating  the  truth  of  what  has  been  so  ad- 
mirably said  on  this  point  by  such  thoughtful,  discriminat- 
ing men  of  the  South  as  the  late  ex-Senator  Vance  of 
North  Carolina  and  Mr.  Henry  Grady  of  Georgia. 

Before  leaving  this  subject  it  must  be  allowed  one  to  say 
in  regard  to  the  state  of  society  in  the  South  before  the 
war,  that  the  social  conditions  in  the  same  community 
have  largely  changed.  It  is  said  of  Mr.  Webster  that  in 
introducing  that  charming,  typical  Southerner,  the  Hon- 
erable  George  E.  Badger,  United  States  Senator  of  North 
Carolina,  to  one  of  his  Boston  friends,  he  employed  these 
words : 

Hon-.  Rufus  Choate: 

"Dear  Sir — Permit  me  to  introduce  to  you  the  Honorable 
George  E.  Badger  of  North  Carolina,  your  equal  and  my 
superior.  Yours  truly,       Daniel  Webster." 

Thus  you  will  see  that  in  this  representative  South- 
erner Mr.  Webster  recognized  the  rich  product  of  the 
South.  Yes,  say  what  you  may  of  it,  there  was  an  en- 
gaging race  in  the  chivalry  that  tempered  even  quixot- 
ism with  dignity,  in  the  piety  which  saved  master  and  slave 
alike,  in  the  charity  that  boasted  not,  in  honor  held  above 


so  The  Old  Plantation. 

estate,  in  the  hospitality  that  neither  condescended  nor 
cringed,  in  frankness  and  heartiness  and  wholesome  com- 
radeship, in  the  reverence  paid  to  womanhood  and  the  in- 
violable respect  in  which  woman  was  held,  the  civilization 
of  the  old  slave  regime  in  the  Sonth  has  not  been  surpassed 
and  perhaps  will  not  be  equaled  among  men. 

Whence  came  these  fine  conditions  ?  We  of  the  old  South 
cannot  be  blamed  (for  we  are  not  wrong)  in  saying  that, 
as  there  was  no  hurry  among  us  in  those  days,  no  need 
of  haste,  men  took  time  to  be  truly  conservative  and 
fastened  the  taproot  of  their  every-day  life  deep  down  into 
the  soil  which  was  pressed  by  the  foot-prints  of  George 
Washington,  Jefferson,  Madison,  Monroe,  Henry,  and  such 
others  as  gave  dignity  and  honor  to  American  citizenship. 
These  worthies  were  all  slave  holders,  as  were  Scott  and 
Taylor,  and  a  whole  host  of  others  whose  devotion  to  the 
institutional  life  of  this  country  gives  lustre  to  many  pages 
of  American  history. 

But  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  limited  space  of 
this  volume  demands  that  we  hurry  on  and  drop  this  vein 
of  thought  for  the  present.  Yes,  drop  this  vein  of  thought ; 
not,  however,  in  the  sense  illustrated  by  this  anecdote. 
The  proprietor  of  the  leading  hotel  in  Savannah,  Georgia, 
ordered  old  Pompey  to  bring  up  on  his  shoulder  from  the 
wharf  to  the  hotel  a  large  sea  turtle.  Po?  ipey  was  obeying 
the  order,  as  with  bent  shoulders  he  made  his  way  up  the 
street,  the  turtle  kicking  out  with  his  four  feet  in  as  many 
directions.  A  ventriloquist  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  took  in  the  situation  and  undertook  to  have  some  fun 
at  the  old  darky's  expense.  In  the  most  sepulchral  tone 
he  could  possibly  command  he  threw  his  voice  over  the 
street  and,  as  from  the  poor  turtle,  asked,  "When  is  you 
gwine  to  drap  me?"  Instantly,  as  the  turtle  went  down 
with  a  tremendous  crash  upon  the  hard  pavement,  jarring 
him  as  though  he  had  been  struck  by  the  tail  of  a  whale, 
the  old  darky  called  out,  "Fse  gwine  to  drap  you  right 
now,"  and  away  he  went  at  the  most  rapid  rate,  with  coat 
tails  flying  out  as  danger  signals,  in  superstitious  fright  and 
flight.  In  the  childlike  simplicity  of  the  old  plantation 
negro  how  much  there  is  both  amusing  and  attractive. 


The  Old  Plantation.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 

In  the  South  the  crops  were  so  various  that  in  no  season, 
however  disastrous  to  some,  was  there  ever  a  marked  failure 
in  all.  Each  one  of  these  staples  had  its  own  peculiar  belt 
or  habitat,  requiring  different  modes  of  culture  and  special 
adaptation  of  soil  and  climate  for  its  highest  perfection. 
Thus,  in  the  fine  wheat  lands  of  Maryland,  Virginia  and 
Kentucky,  one  never  saw  a  field  of  cotton  or  sugar  cane. 
Yet  all  of  these  crops  were  the  products  of  the  same  labor, 
and  while  there  were  peculiar  features  in  the  plantation  life 
of  the  Gulf  States'  planters,  yet  there  was  such  a  general 
sameness  that  in  minute  description  of  an  estate  in  North 
Carolina  one  furnishes  a  satisfactory  account  of  them  all. 
In  the  older  States  of  the  South,  notably  so  in  Virginia 
and  the  Carolinas,  there  was  a  more  pronounced  form 
of  the  patriarchal  features  of  the  system  than  was  found 
in  the  younger  States,  where  the  commercial  features  of 
the  institution  more  largely  obtained.  It  was  not  an 
unusual  condition  of  affairs  in  the  older  States  that  the 
servants  employed  came  down  with  broad  acreage  from 
father  to  son  for  generations.  These  older  States  were 
more  influential  in  giving  character  to  the  younger  com- 
munities of  the  old  South.  It  was  notably  so  in  1837 
and  afterwards,  because  the  tide  of  emigration  set  out  from 
the  Potomac  and  James  Rivers'  Valley  about  that  time. 
We  shall  select  a  plantation  in  North  Carolina,  the  de- 
scription of  which  will  best  illustrate  the  most  health- 
ful forms  of  the  relation  of  master  and  servant. 

Wherever  the  uplift  of  education  has  been  felt  there 


22  The  Old  Plantation. 

is  some  one  spot  where  the  well-nigh  magical  influence  of 
home  has  asserted  its  power.  Some  one  spot  there  is  to 
us  all  where  the  sky  is  a  little  bluer,  where  the  grass 
is  a  little  greener,  where  the  light  of  the  stars  is  a  little 
softer,  where  the  song  of  the  birds  is  sweeter  and  the 
south-west  breezes  of  the  early  spring  are  much  softer; 
while  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  is  far  sweeter — in  fine, 
where  heaven  is  a  little  nigher.  That  spot  of  earth  is 
one's  own  home.  It  is  the  presence  of  the  mother  there 
that  consecrates  it.  It  may  not  be  especially  attractive  to 
others,  but  it  is  all  the  world  to  you. 

The  plantation  selected  for  description  here  is  the  au- 
thor's old  home  and  the  home  of  his  forefathers  for  genera- 
tions.    Many  in  North  Carolina,  in  breadth  of  acreage 
and  varied  attractiveness,  may  have  been  of  greater  mar- 
ketable value  and  far  more  desirable.     The  author  knows 
this  best  and  thinks  it  a  fair  type  of  the  old  plantations 
of  the  South,  and,  therefore,  for  various  reasons,  it  has 
been  selected  as  the   scene  of  the  recitals,   descriptions, 
events   and  conditions   of   life   embodied   in  the   life   on 
Southern  estates  before  the  years  of  1861  and  '65.     It  is 
situated   in   the   old   county   of   Onslow,   named   for   Sir 
Arthur  Onslow,  Speaker  of  the  British  House  of  Commons. 
The  plantation  was  known  as  "The  Eich  Lands"  and  was 
situated  immediately  on  the  old  stage-road  which  led  from 
New  Berne  to  Wilmington,  two  old  colonial  towns,  about 
one  hundred  miles  apart,  in  the  tide  water  section  of  the 
blessed  old  State  of  North  Carolina.     This  estate  lay  on 
the  west  side  of  a  very  remarkable  stream  known  as  New 
River,  which  had  its  source  and  outlet  in  the  same  county. 
From  its  mouth  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean  up  to  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  village  of  Jacksonville,  the  county  seat, 
the  beautiful  body  of  water,  known  as  "the  river,"  was, 
in  truth,  in  breadth,  in  depth,  and  other  particulars  verv 
like  an  arm  of  the  sea.     Rarely,  if  ever,  has  the  eye  of 
man  elsewhere   drunk  in   the  beauties   of  nature   as   so 
strikingly  presented  by  this  lovely  estnary  or  bay.     Some- 
thing like  it  is  to  be  seen  along  the  St.  Mary's  River  in 
lower  Maryland.     Some  of  the  views  of  the  Hudson  re- 
mind you  of  it.    All  in  all,  however,  the  writer  has  never 


The  Old  Plantation/  23 

seen  anything  quite  so  beautiful.  It  was  some  twenty 
miles  in  length  and  several  miles  in  breadth,  with  an  ex- 
panse of  water  strikingly  lovely. 

One  must  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  this 
beautiful  body  of  salt  water  constituted  the  abundant 
storehouse  of  nature,  from  which  were  taken  some  of  the 
most  valued  features  of  table  comfort  and  luxury.  Its 
waters  teemed  with  the  various  varieties  of  fine  fish  found 
in  this  latitude,  among  which  were  the  mullet,  the  sea 
trout,  the  sheepshead,  the  flounder,  the  croaker  or  pig 
fish,  with  others  not  a  few.  These  fine  fish  were  there  in 
great  abundance.  In  their  season  were  to  be  had  many 
varieties  of  water  fowl,  ducks,  wild  geese  and  swans.  The 
ducks  were  very  numerous  and  of  the  varieties  found  in 
that  famous  storehouse,  the  Chesapeake  Bay.  Never  in 
this  country  has  the  writer  tasted  a  more  delicious  break- 
fast dish  than  the  blue  winged  teal  of  these  waters,  while 
the  blackheads,  mallards,  and  the  variety  which  we  call 
the  canvasback  were  found  in  large  numbers.  Rich  and 
abundant  as  were  all  these  contributions  to  the  planter's 
comfort,  none  surpassed  the  shellfish  found  so  abundantly 
where  this  beautiful  inland  salt  lake  joined  the  sea.  The 
oysters  were  larger  and  fatter  than  the  celebrated  "Blue 
Points"  of  the  New  York  market,  and  in  delicacy  of 
flavor  quite  equaled  the  "Morris  Cove"  specimen  of  the 
Philadelphia  Club  House.  The  writer  married  a  Virginia 
girl  and  has  often  feasted  on  the  fine  oysters  of  the  Nor- 
folk and  Suffolk  markets  (and  they  are  certainly  very 
fine),  but,  apart  from  prejudice  or  predilection,  he  is 
free  to  say  that  the  "New  River"  oyster  of  the  old  plan- 
tation days  in  all  the  finer  forms  of  delicacy  and  flavor 
were  the  equals  of  any  bivalves  he  has  ever  enjoyed.  At 
Delmonieo's  in  New  York  or  at  the  old  Hygeia  at  Old 
Point  Comfort  nothing  of  the  oyster  family  surpassed 
them.  The  very  largest  and  fattest  oysters  in  the  country 
are  to  be  had  in  the  Mobile  and  New  Orleans'  markets. 
These  graced  the  beautiful  tables  of  the  old  St.  Charles 
and  St.  Louis  of  the  latter  city  in  the  good  old  ante- 
bellum days;  but,  while  they  were  as  large  as  the  hand  of 
the  Creole  beauties  at  the  table  and  as  white  with  fat  as 


24  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  snowy  arms  of  these  beautiful  women,  the}'  lacked 
the  peculiar,  dainty,  salty  flavor  of  the  "New  River" 
oyster.  They  were  much  larger,  much  fatter,  these  ton- 
seceurs  of  the  Gulf  waters,  but  were  far  too  fresh,  lack- 
ing in  saltiness,  and  this  for  a  very  obvious  cause.  The 
large  inland  seas,  the  Alabama  and  Mississippi  rivers, 
poured  such  quantities  of  fresh  water  into  the  gulf  as  to 
lower  the  standard  of  saltiness  of  this  oyster's  habitat; 
but  though  in  return  they  brought  down  such  myriads 
upon  myriads  of  animalcule  as  to  make  these  oysters  of 
the  Gulf  as  long  as  an  ordinary  knife  of  the  tea  table,  as 
broad  as  a  man's  four  fingers  and  looking  like  great  strips 
of  white  pork,  yet  they  were  not  comparable  in  flavor  to 
the  New  River  oyster  of  the  North  Carolina  markets. 
In  addition  to  these  toothsome  oysters  of  this  remarka- 
ble river,  there  was  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  crabs,  both 
stone  and  soft  shell,  while  clams,  scallops  and  shrimps 
were  to  be  had  for  the  taking.  In  addition  to  the  above 
named  comforts,  which,  in  the  good  old  golden  days  be- 
fore the  war  had  become  to  the  planters  and  their  families 
actual  indispensable  necessaries,  both  the  bathing  and 
sailing  were  most  excellent.  The  writer  goes  back  in  fond 
recollection  to  many  sunny  hours  of  the  charming  sailing 
or  yachting  parties  over  these  beautiful  waters,  as  fair  and 
lovely  as  those  in  the  Bay  of  Naples.  In  these  we  were 
often  joined  by  the  charming  people  of  Col.  Edward  Mont- 
ford's  family  or  those  from  Paradise  Point,  in  both  of 
which  such  sweet  hospitality  obtained. 

The  soil  along  the  shores  of  the  lovely  inland  lake,  while 
lacking  in  the  greater  fertility  of  the  plantations  higher 
up  the  river,  was  most  kindly  in  many  of  the  wise  be- 
stowments  of  nature,  and  the  planters  lived  in  great  com- 
fort and  luxury.  The  strong,  beating  tidal  pulse  of  old 
ocean  had  not  the  power  to  force  its  sway  higher  up  lser\V 
River  than  just  below  Jacksonville,  the  county  seat.  Here 
the  tide  ended.  Higher  up  the  river,  narrowing  rapidly, 
you  came  to  some  of  the  finest  agricultural  country  in  this 
State.  In  the  center  of  this  lovely  section,  on  the  west 
bank  of  the  river,  in  the  form  of  a  horseshoe  in  the  bend 
of  this  beautiful  stream,  lay  the  far-famed  "Rich  Lands" 


The  Old  Plantation.7  25  ^ 

estate.  As  it  lay  there  with  its  broad,  fertile  acreage, 
embellished  here  and  there  with  the  largest  hickory  trees 
the  writer  has  ever  seen,  it  stretched  away  on  either  side 
of  the  stage  road  running  from  Wilmington,  fifty-eight 
miles  away,  to  New  Berne,  just  forty-two  miles  distant. 
This  road,  running  from  north-west  to  south-east  in  al- 
most an  air  line  for  something  over  two  miles,  cuts  this 
estate  in  two  parts  of  almost  equal  extent.  The  writer 
loves  to  shut  his  eyes,  close  his  ears,  go  back  in  fond 
memory,  and  think  of  it  as  the  most  beautiful  plantation 
his  eye  ever  feasted  upon.  Some  of  the  estates  in  the 
Mohawk  Valley  are  very  lovely,  and  lovely  homes  on  fine 
farms  are  to  be  seen  in  the  far-famed  Shenandoah  valley 
of  Virginia. 

The  American  may  be  justly  proud  of  his  country, 
capable  of  furnishing  such  landed  estates  as  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  blue-grass  country  of  Kentucky  and  the  more 
fertile  sections  of  Alabama,  in  the  canebrake  country  be- 
tween the  Alabama  and  Tombigbee  Rivers.  These  are  all 
very  fine,  as  is  that  far-famed  section  of  Bayou  Teche  in 
Louisiana.  But  this  plantation  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing— in  all  the  elements  of  fertility,  lay  of  the  land,  readi- 
ness of  renovation,  variety  of  products,  proximity  to  mar- 
ket, freedom  from  wasting  diseases,  the  ease  with  which  a 
fine  table  could  be  maintained  winter  and  summer,  the 
excellence  of  its  roads,  its  inexhaustible  forests  of  fine 
wood,  hard  and  soft — in  the  judgment  of  those  entitled 
by  both  education  and  travel  to  an  opinion  in  such  matters 
was,  in  the  early  fifties,  under  the  management  of  the 
proprietor,  the  father  of  the  present  writer,  one  of  the 
very  finest  estates  in  the  South.  The  reader  will  con- 
cur, when  we  go  into  details.  It  embraced  more  than 
twenty-five  hundred  acres  of  arable  land,  while  to  the 
west  and  south,  adjoining,  there  extended  a  magnificent 
domain  of  more  than  twenty_ihousand_ acres  of  heavily 
timbered  land,  comprising  the  turpentine  orchards  of  this 
estate.  The  plantation  proper  was  almost  as  level  as  a 
parlor  floor,  save  where  one  beautiful  stream,  Chapel 
Run,  cuts  its  way  through  the  fields  as  it  went  on  its 
way  with  sparkling  waters  to  the  river.     The  geological 


26  The  Old  Plantation/ 

formation  was  that  of  limestone,  not  the  hard,  granite- 
like, blue  limestone  of  the  Shenandoah  valley;  this  was 
the  softer  gray  limestone,  easily  disintegrating,  and  from 
its  rich  percentage  in  the  carbonate  of  lime,  when  applied, 
readily  restoring  fertility  to  the  soil,  reduced  by  heavy 
cropping.  The  beautiful  stream  spoken  of,  Chapel  Eun, 
fed  by  innumerable  springs,  some  of  them  in  view  and 
others  hid  away  in  its  banks  and  bed,  was  a  bold,  strong 
creek,  spanned  by  several  rustic  bridges,  ornamented 
by  vines,  which  were  a  very  great  convenience  in  going  to 
and  from  the  plantation  work,  and  notably  so  in  harvest- 
ing the  crops.  Its  head  waters  were  strong,  unfailing 
springs,  a  little  west  of  the  plantation,  out  on  the  east- 
ern fringe  of  the  turpentine  orchard.  The  writer,  in 
boyhood,  on  Saturdays  and  other  holidays  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  fishing  in  its  glassy  pools,  as  limpid  as 
Lake  Killarney  in  old  Ireland.  They  abounded  in  small 
though  very  delicious  fish  of  the  perch  family,  commonly 
called  pan  or  the  breakfast  fish  of  the  planter's  table. 

Do  you  see  that  fine  old  beech  tree  standing  on  the  bank 
of  this  stream,  just  before  it  disappears  and  goes  into 
its  subterranean  channel,  which  some  convulsion  of  na- 
ture has  made  for  it  ?  What  a  splendid  old  tree  it  is ! 
How  stately  its  trunk,  how  umbrageous  its  branches,  how 
smooth  its  white  bark?  What  rough,  hieroglyphic  signs 
are  those,  well-nigh  grown  over  now,  but  once  cut  deep 
into  the  soft  bark  of  this  lovely  tree,  as  the  young  fisher- 
man stopped  his  sport  and  with  pocket  knife  engraved 
the  following  letters,  "E.  P.  F. ;"  while  higher  up,  the 
work  of  an  older  brother,  could  be  read  the  unmistakable 
initial  letters  of  one  of  dear  old  Carolina's  beautiful 
daughters,  "A.  E.  C.  D."  Thus  we  see  that  Cupid  was 
busy  then  with  the  sons  of  the  old  planter.  Those  who 
wore  the  names  outlined  by  those  initials  have  passed  away, 
but  to  him  who  alone  survives,  the  younger  brother,  the 
present  writer  of  these  pages,  their  sweet  memory  will 
outlast  the  famous  old  beech  tree  and  will  go  on  with  him 
into  etemit}r,  forever  blessed.  Do  you  see  that  large 
persimmon  tree  standing  out  there  in  the  open  field, 
some  hundred  yards  or  more  from  the  banks  of  the  creek  ? 


The  Old  Plantation.  27 

Yes;  why  do  you  ask  the  question?  Because  it  has  con- 
nected with  it  some  high  fun  of  possum  hunting,  with 
dear  old  Ben  and  his  dogs,  "Battler"  and  "Spunk." 
Maybe  it  would  be  well  to  stop  my  plantation  reminiscences 
for  a  little  while  and  give  you  a  sure  enough  possum 
story  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  I  do  not  know  how  the  reader 
will  like  it.  In  these  times  of  the  bicycle  and  the  fame  » 
of  Newport  and  Narragansett  Pier,  times  have  so  changed. 
Nevertheless,  here  goes  for  the  possum  story.  Those  who 
prefer  to  do  so  can  skip  it  and  indulge  in  reading  one  of 
Zola's  elevating  (?)  stories. 

On  one  of  the  Carolina  plantations  before  the  war  lived 
an  old  darky  named  Hannibal,  commonly  known  as 
"Uncle  Han,"  whose  proud  fame  as  a  possum  hunter  or 
a  trapper  was  well  known  on  the  plantations  on  both 
sides  of  the  river.  He  was  very  lucky  with  "varmints," 
as  the  negroes  said.  On  this  particular  occasion  he  had 
gone  to  his  trap  and  found  that  it  had  been  robbed,  but 
he  set  it  and  carefully  baited  it  and  went  to  another  trap 
higher  up  the  creek.  Here  he  was  delighted  to  find  he 
had  caught  a  fine  large  animal,  well  fatted  on  persimmons, 
which  the  early  frosts  had  mellowed  and  sweetened.  In 
less  time  than  is  required  to  tell  of  it  he  had,  with  one 
blow  of  his  axe,  cut  down  a  young  ash  and  with  the  pos- 
sum's tail  held  fast  in  the  split  of  the  stick,  thrown  over 
his  shoulder,  he  was  making  his  way  home,  to  reach  which 
he  was  obliged  to  pass  by  a  little  country  store  where 
whiskey  was  sold.  Uncle  Han's  joy  over  the  prospect  of 
the  oncoming  feast  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  pass 
that  store  without  stopping  both  to  wet  his  whistle  and 
to  fill  his  "tickler."  Thus  supplied,  homeward  he  went 
and,  though  it  was  late,  he  soon  had  the  possum  on  a 
spit  before  a  roaring  fire.  Now  and  then  the  old  man 
would  wet  his  whistle  from  the  contents  of  that  bottle. 
Soon,  between  the  heat  of  the  fire,  the  soothing  influence 
of  the  whiskey  and  the  day's  work,  he  was  deep  down  in 
an  old  split-bottomed  chair,  fast  asleep.  Aunt  Rachel,  his 
wife,  had  gone  to  bed  some  time  before.  Still  the  old 
man  slept  on.  A  little  blue-black  negro  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, named  Henry,  worried  the  very  life  out  of  Uncle 


28  The  Old  Plantation. 

Han  by  robbing  his  traps,  and  other  deviltries.  He  hacf 
gone  to  the  old  man's  trap  that  very  night  and  saw  from 
the  hair  still  sticking  to  it  that  Uncle  Han  had  been 
lucky.  He  followed  on.  He  came  to  the  old  man's  cabin 
and,  through  a  crack  in  the  wall,  he  took  in  the  situation. 
There  was  the  fat  possum  roasting  away  before  the  fire; 
there  sat,  or  rather  half  way  reclined,  Uncle  Han  in  his 
chair,  pretty  far  gone  from  the  effects  of  his  frequent 
drinks,  fast  asleep.  Henry's  mouth  was  just  watering 
for  some  of  that  possum,  but  still  he  waited.  All  was 
quiet  as  the  grave,  save  an  occasional  snore  from  the  old 
man.  After  a  time,  when  the  odor  of  the  roasted  possum 
told  the  young  darky  that  all  things  were  ready,  he 
softly  opened  the  door,  tiptoed  to  the  fireplace,  took  down 
the  possum,  and  at  the  table  ate  and  ate  and  ate  until 
fully  satisfied;  then,  to  add  insult  to  injury,  he  took  a 
little  of  the  possum's  fat  and  with  his  finger  gently 
smeared  it  on  the  old  man's  lip,  who  was  far  gone  with 
whiskey  and  sleep.  Then  the  little  blue-black  imp  of 
mischief  went  out  of  the  house  as  quietly  as  he  could 
and,  taking  a  good  sized  chunk  of  wood,  he  swung  it  high 
into  the  air,  giving  it  such  a  turn  that  it  came  down  with 
a  tremendous  "k'fram"  on  the  old  man's  roof.  It  was 
a  fearful  noise  in  the  dead  of  the  night.  The  old  man, 
fearfully  startled  from  his  sleep,  sprang  up  from  his 
chair,  about  half  asleep  and  more  than  half  drunk,  and 
called  out,  "Hello !  Hello !  Eachel,  old  woman,  whar's 
my  possum?"  and  then,  his  tongue  touching  the  possum 
fat  on  his  lip  and  sucking  it  for  its  verysavoriness,  he  began 
again,  "It  tas'  like  possum;  it  mus'  be  possum;  it  surely 
am  possum.  I'll  tell  yuh  w'at's  de  truf  'bout  dis,  old 
woman,  I  mus'  hav'  eat  dat  possum  in  my  sleep;  but  I 
tell  yuh  w'at's  de  fac',  if  I  did,  and  I  mus'  hav'  dun  it, 
it  lies  li'ter  on  my  stumac'  and  gives  me  less  satisfacshun 
dan  any  possum  eve'  I  eat  befo'  in  all  my  bo'n  days." 
To  which  the  old  woman,  Aunt  Eachel,  wisely  replied. 
"Stop  talkin'  'bout  yo'  possum,  yuh  ole  fool  yuh.  Put 
out  de  li'te  an'  com'  to  bed;  it's  mos'  day  and  yuh  is 
drunk,  dat's  what  yuh  is." 


The  Old  Plantation.  29 


CHAPTER  IV. 

On  either  side  of  the  stage  road  from  Wilmington  to 
New  Berne,  as  it  passed  through,  the  plantation,  were 
well  kept  fences  of  the  old-fashioned  zigzag  or  Virginia 
style.  In  alternate  corners  of  the  fence  were  planted 
fruit  trees,  not  of  the  short  lived,  modern,  grafted  or 
budded  varieties,  but  trees  grown  from  seed  in  case  of  the 
peach  and  cherry,  and  from  the  scion  where  the  apple  tree 
was  desired.  The  result  was  that  the  trees  planted  in 
the  early  part  of  the  century  in  some  cases  were  bear- 
ing fruit  in  the  early  forties.  Here  and  there,  as  good 
taste  or  convenience  might  suggest,  the  stately  black  wal- 
nut and  hickory  and  an  occasional  mulberry  tree  had 
been  allowed  to  stand.  Here  and  there,  when  in  full 
foliage,  the  dark  leaved  persimmon  trees  were  dotted  about 
the  twelve  or  thirteen  fields  into  which  this  large  plan- 
tation was  divided.  The  theory  of  the  proprietor  was 
that  as  the  stock  congregated  under  these  persimmon  trees 
to  eat  the  fruit  their  shade  did  not  lessen  the  productive- 
ness of  the  fields  where  they  stood.  Certainly,  with  their 
deep,  dark  green  foliage  and  symmetrical  outlines,  they 
gave  much  beauty  to  the  landscape.  Grandfather  and  father 
in  their  holding  of  these  ancestral  acres,  evinced  much  wis- 
dom in  guarding  their  lovely  trees  and  protecting  the 
forests  from  vandal  waste.  It  would  have  been  far  bet- 
ter for  the  landed  estates  of  the  South  if  the  timber,  espe- 
cially the  hardwood,  had  been  more  carefully  guarded  and 
economized. 


30  The  Old  Plantation. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  proprietor  to  cultivate  the 
fields  on  either  side  of  the  road  on  alternate  years.  At 
convenient  distances  from  each  other,  large  barns  and 
cribs  for  the  safe  storage  of  the  crops  had  been  built, 
surrounded  ordinarily  by  broad  shelters  and  enclosed  sheds 
for  the  comfortable  stabling  of  the  cows  and  sheep  at 
night  and  for  the  feeding  of  the  horses  and  mules  at  noon 
in  the  busy  months  of  the  year.  Some  of  these  barns 
were  old  and  so  constructed  as  to  allow  a  four  or  six  mule 
team  to  drive  in  with  grain  or  forage  and,  after  the  load 
had  been  deposited,  to  pass  out  through  the  opposite  dou- 
ble door.  Connected  with  these  barn  yards  there  were 
closely  fenced  stock  yards  for  the  better  management  of 
the  cows,  sheep,  hogs  and  colts  of  the  plantation.  These 
were  well  furnished  with  pumps  or  wells,  affording  an  am- 
ple supply  of  water  for  the  stock,  which,  however,  the 
servants  were  not  allowed  to  drink,  as  they  were  strongly 
impregnated  with  limestone  of  such  quality  as  to  render 
the  water  unhealthy  for  man,  but  which  the  animals  could 
drink  with  impunity.  The  water  which  the  servants 
drank  was  brought  out  in  large  casks  mounted  on  wheels 
and  was  served  to  them  in  gourds  or  calabashes  from 
wooden  cans  made  by  the  plantation  coopers  from  cedar, 
cypress  or  juniper  wood,  with  which  the  estate  abounded. 
By  subterranean  sinks  or  natural  wells  in  this  limestone 
formation  the  fields  were  admirably  drained  and  the 
ditches  were  comparatively  inexpensive.  As  you  ap- 
proached the  river,  where  the  land  was  undulating,  there 
were  numerous  marl  beds  which  had  been  worked  for 
many  years,  and  which  in  their  rich  deposits  yielded 
the  much  desired  lime  for  agricultural  purposes.  Some 
of  them  afforded  in  abundance  a  marine  deposit  as  high 
as  seventy-three  per  cent,  in  carbonate  of  lime,  with 
traces  of  magnesia  and  phosphoric  acid.  If  you  examine 
this  specimen  carefully  you  will  find  parts  of  the  skele- 
tons of  sea  animals,  fish,  crabs,  turtles,  etc.  These  bones 
account  for  the  rich  phosphates  contained  in  the  marl, 

"What  crop  of  dark,  rich  green  is  that  which  you 
see  along  the  western  slope  of  those  hills,  and  far  out 
into  the  bottom  of  that  two  hundred  acre  field?" 


The  Old  Plantation.  31 

"That  is  the  far-famed  black-eyed  pea  of  the  South, 
the  substitute  for  clover,  which  the  long,  hot  summers 
of  the  South  preclude  from  the  crops  of  this  plantation." 

"What  noise  is  that  we  hear  over  in  that  direction?" 

"That's  the  song  of  the  boys  on  their  light  carts  hauling 
the  marl  to  be  scattered  broadcast  over  the  crop  of  peas, 
which  you  see  is  just  going  into  bloom,  the  height  of  its 
exuberance,  when  it  will  be  turned  under  good  and  deep, 
with  a  .sweep  chain  connected  with  the  plow  to  force 
the  peas  down,  so  as  to  be  reached  by  the  plowshare.  This 
is  the  preparation  for  the  wheat  crop.  Yes,  the  pro- 
prietor, while  not  numbering  wheat  among  the  staples 
of  his  plantation,  always  produces  enough  for  home  con- 
sumption and  his  seed  for  the  next  year." 

"What  other  crop  is  that  growing  down  there  just 
along  the  river  bank?" 

"That's  our  rice  crop.  You  observe  the  acreage  is  not 
large  and  yet  there  is  plenty  and  to  spare  for  all  the 
plantation  requirements." 

"What  small  birds  are  those  rising  up  from  the  rice 
fields  in  such  large  numbers  as  to  almost  darken  the 
view  ?" 

"They  are  the  famous  rice  birds  of  the  South  just  now 
holding  their  high  carnival,  attacking  the  rice  crop  just 
as  the  grain  is  going  into  its  milky  state." 

"What  means  that  discharge  of  firearms,  with  reports 
so  loud  and  long  sustained  as  to  suggest  a  body  of  in- 
fantry ?" 

"That's  old  Uncle  Amos  and  his  band  of  helpers  shoot- 
ing these  birds  to  protect  the  crop  from  these  dainty  little 
enemies.     Have  you  ever  eaten  a  rice  bird?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  I  have  eaten  the  sora  or  the 
reed  bird,  killed  in  the  Valley  of  the  Patuxent  in  Mary- 
land, and  it  is  certainly  very  delicious.  So  far  as  I  know, 
it  may  be  the  famous  ortolan." 

This  conversation  took  place  between  the  older  son 
of  the  planter  and  his  college  mate  from  Princeton,  a 
charming  young  gentleman  from  Maryland,  who  had  come 
home  with  the  young  Carolinian  to  enjoy  a  week  or  two 


32  The  Old  Plantation. 

of  hunting  and  fishing  and  other  forms  of  fine  fun  and 
frolic  on  the  old  plantation. 

"Wait  until  breakfast  to-morrow,"  said  my  brother 
John,  "and  when  you  have  eaten  our  rice  bird,  fat  as 
butter,  bones  and  all,  you  will  never  brag  again  of  your 
sora,  of  your  ortolan,  of  your  famous  reed  bird,  for  I  tell 
you,  Tom  Bowie,  that  this  bird  of  the  Carolinas,  fatted 
on  rice  in  the  milky  state,  is  the  most  delicate,  tooth- 
some food  I  ever  tasted." 

"Let  us  now  turn  our  faces  homeward,  for  we  have 
fully  two  miles  to  ride  and  the  afternoon  is  far  spent." 

As  these  two  young  gentlemen,  mounted  on  horseback, 
turned  the  heads  of  their  horses  away  from  the  river 
they  came  up  with  an  old  negro,  "Uncle  Daniel,"  riding 
in  a  cart  drawn  by  a  mule,  well  laden  with  corn  in  the  ear. 
The  old  man  is  on  his  way  to  one  of  the  feeding  stations 
to  give  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  bullocks  their  evening 
meal.  These  are  being  fatted  for  the  early  winter  markets, 
and  had  you  time,  reader,  to  inspect  them  closely  you 
would  find  fine  specimens  of  the  Durham  breed  of  cattle, 
of  the  large  size  and  of  admirable  fattening  properties, 
of  which  the  proprietor  was  very  proud. 

"What  is  that  more  than  half  grown  servant  doing 
over  there  to  the  left  of  us?" 

"We  will  ask  him.     Fred,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"I'm  penning  the  sheep,  sah." 

Yes,  every  night  the  flocks  of  sheep,  of  which  there 
were  several,  numbering  in  all  some  three  or  four  hun- 
dred, were  carefully  penned,  for  the  double  purpose  of 
making  manure  in  their  well-littered  folds,  protecting 
the  grown  animals  from  the  ravages  of  the  dogs,  and 
from  the  fox's  known  fondness  for  the  lambs  of  the  flocks. 
As  one  comes  from  the  plantation  proper  and  crosses  the 
creek,  on  ascending  the  hill  on  the  south  side  one  enters 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  avenues  of  cedars  in  this  section 
of  the  State.  It  stretches  away  to  the  gate  leading  into 
the  large  grounds  surrounding  the  mansion  and  embrac- 
ing its  curtilage,  in  length  some  half-mile  and  breadth 
some  forty  feet,  as  level  almost  as  a  dining  room  table. 

Who  are  those  four  men — servants — we  meet  at  the. 


The  Old  Plantation.  33 

brow  of  the  hill  ?  Two  of  them  are  between  fifty  and  sixty 
years  of  age,  one  is  a  shade  older  and  the  fourth  is  about 
thirty-five  years  old.  The  old  man  mounted  on  a  blood 
bay  mare,  with  black  mane,  tale  and  legs  is  Uncle 
Philip,  the  next  in  authority  to  the  proprietor  on  the 
whole  plantation.  The  youngest  of  the  four  is  Cicero, 
the  coachman.  Observe  him,  if  you  please,  as  with  all 
the  air  of  a  trained  jockey  he  jauntily  sits  in  the  saddle. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  more  beautiful  animal  than  that? 
You  will  not  wonder  when  told  that  his  dam  was  a  Sir 
Archy  mare,  Vashti,  the  celebrated  Tar  River  filly,  and 
well  known  on  the  American  turf.  She  "let  down,"  or 
strained  a  tendon  running  against  the  famous  old  horse 
"Boston"  on  Long  Island  course.  His  sire  was  Trustee, 
the  father  of  Fashion.  The  other  two  servants  are  Uncle 
Suwarro,  named  for  a  famous  Russian  general,  and  the 
trusted  foreman  of  the  plowmen  of  the  plantation,  while 
the  small  blue-black  negro  is  Uncle  Jim,  the  foreman  of 
the  hoe  force  of  the  plantation.  Why  are  they  so  much 
excited?  The  large  bell  on  the  estate  has  struck  the 
hour  of  noon,  and  as  it  is  Saturday  everybody  is  called  off 
from  work  till  Monday.  This  has  been  the  custom  of 
the  plantation  for  a  long,  long  time.  No  work  after 
twelve  o'clock  on  Saturday,  unless  it  be  during  the  harvest 
season. 

You  observe  those  marl  carters  have  all  come  in  and 
there  is  an  air  of  excitement  on  the  faces  of  all  the  serv- 
ants you  see.  What  is  up  ?  There's  a  horse  race  on  foot. 
Uncle  Philip  and  Cicero  are  to  try  the  speed  of  their  re- 
spective horses  and  these  two  old  foremen  have  come 
up  the  avenue  to  give  them  a  fair  start,  while  Robert, 
the  blacksmith,  holds  the  purse  of  ten  dollars,  which  is 
the  wager  on  this  occasion.  Harry  and  Ben  are  the 
judges.  Presently  you  hear,  in  trumpet  tones  the  word 
"Go,"  and  off  they  speed  along  the  whole  length  of  the 
avenue,  through  the  open  gateway  of  the  enclosure  as 
rapidly  as  the  horses  can  put  their  feet  to  the  ground, 
both  running  under  whip  and  spur.  Cheer  after  cheer 
rends  the  air  as  Cicero's  friends  claim  the  victory,  for 
the  judges  rule  against  old  Uncle  Philip,  who  yields  as 


34  The  Old  Plantation. 

gracefully  as  he  can,  but  who  "cusses"  a  little  and  then 
rides  in,  puts  up  his  horse,  opens  his  little  store  and 
proceeds  to  gather  in  the  six-pences  and  shillings,  with 
which  to  make  the  purse  for  another  race  with  that 
"skillet  headed  nigger,"  Cicero,  as  in  anger  and  contempt, 
the  aristocratic  old  man  calls  his  adversary  of  the  plan- 
tation turf. 


The  Old  Plantation.  35 


\7    1 
I 


;   1 


CHAPTEK  V. 

We  have  had  a  glimpse  of  the  sports  and  pastimes  of 
the  servants  in  the  ante-bellum  days  on  this  old  estate. 
We  have  seen  that  there  were  joyous  breaks  in  the  days 
of  labor,  which  made  their  plantation,  not  only  an  abode  of 
much  comfort  but  a  scene  of  marked  beauty  in  its  well 
cultivated  fields  and  other  features  of  telling  thrift.  Be- 
fore we  go  very  far  into  the  details  of  the  lives  of  these 
dusky  sons  and  jia^ghters  of_  toil,  we  shall  devote  an 
emtre  chapter  to  the  amusements "" m  which  the  old  planter 
encouraged  them  to  indulge.  We  shall  see  with  our  own 
eyes  that  if  the  prosperity  of  the  South  was  the  natural 
result  of  systematized  labor,  one  feature  of  the  system  was 
the  recognition  of  the  fact  that  the  highest  forms  of 
usefulness  and  efficiency  in  life  are  only  reached  in  the 
judicious  unbending  of  the  bow  of  labor.  The  question 
is  often  asked,  "Is  it  not  well  nigh  as  important  that 
people  in  all  the  relations  of  life  should  be  properly 
amused,  as  that  thev  should  be  fed?"  The  institution 
of  the  various  public  games  among  the  ancients  answered 
this  question  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  pagan  mind,  while 
the  elaborate  and  painstaking  opening  up  of  the  beau- 
tiful parks  in  our  modern  cities,  with  widespreading  groves 
and  lovely  views  of  miniature  lakes  with  laughing  cas- 
cades, all  at  great  cost  to  the  public,  voices  the  wisdom 
of  the  nineteenth  century  civilization  on  this  subject. 
Surely  the  old  planter  was  wise  in  amusing  as  well  as 
feeding  and  sheltering  his  servants. 

Before  going  any  deeper  into  this  narrative,  while  yet 


/ 

36/  The  Old  Plantation." 

we  are  on  horseback,  let  us  ride  up  this  broad  avenue 
of  lovely  elms  and  see  what  lies  beyond.  You  observe 
it  leaves  the  great  public  road  just  before  you  reach  the 
large  gate  through  which  Uncle  Philip  and  Cicero  dis- 
appeared a  moment  ago  at  the  close  of  the  horse  race. 
This  avenue,  some  four  hundred  yards  in  length,  is  about 
forty  feet  in  width  and,  leading  due  east,  it  gradually  ap- 
proaches the  old  mansion  on  the  crest  of  an  eminence. 
This  gives  the  dwelling  and  its  curtilage  almost  perfect 
drainage,  so  important  in  a  flat  or  level  country.  As  we 
ride  along  this  avenue,  on  the  left  and  right  are  two  of 
the  orchards  of  this  estate,  while  still  further  on  the 
right  is  a  large  number  of  buildings  of  various  sizes 
and  adapted  to  various  uses.  This  large  assemblage 
of  houses  is  known  as  the  "quarter,"  or  the  village, 
in  which  the  homes  of  these  many  servants  stand. 
But  }^ou  see  we  are  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  and 
just  in  front  of  us  is  the  gate  of  the  front  yard  of  the 
writer's  old  home.  Before  entering  it  let  us  give  up 
our  horses  to  Cain  and  George  who  will  take  them 
to  the  stables  for  us.  We  can  walk  in  now.  Before  doing 
so  let  us  stop  a  moment  or  so  and  admire  those  fine 
trees,  native  to  the  soil,  equidistant  and  at  the  same 
angle  from  the  corners  of  the  front  piazza.  Do  you  see 
those  two  noble  old  beech  trees  with  trunks  almost  as 
large  as  a  flour  barrel  and  as  symmetrical  as  if  the  then 
popular  landscape  gardener,  Downing,  had  grown  them 
to  suit  his  beautiful  taste?  What  monarchs  they  are  and 
how  comfortable  the  seats  at  their  base,  constructed  of 
undressed  hickory  shoots.  What  splendid  tree  is  that 
just  at  the  front  gate  of  the  side  yard  sloping  away  to 
the  little  stream  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  just  north  of  where 
we  stand?     That  is  a  pecan  tree. 

Let  us  stand  there  a  moment  or  two  and  take  in  the 
outline  of  the  planter's  dwelling.  You  see  it  is  a  very 
large  house.  Yes,  inclusive  of  the  piazzas  it  is  just  sixty 
feet  square,  three  stories  high,  built  of  the  best  North 
Carolina  pine  and  weatherboarded  with  fine  j^ellow  poplar. 
It  stands  on  brick  pillars  about  five  feet  above  ground, 
jnth.  no  suggestion  of  cellarage,  so  as  to  avoid  every  sem- 


* 


The  Old  Plantation.  37 

blance  of  dampness.  Why  did  not  the  old  planter,  with  his 
abundant  means,  build  it  of  brick?  He  is  far  too  wise 
for  that.  In  a  damp  climate  brick  is  not  the  material 
for  the  construction  of  healthy  homes.  The  planter's 
ancestry  found  that  out  to  their  deep  sorrow  long  years 
ago,  when  in  the  settlement  of  New  Berne,  at  the  junction 
of  the  Neuse  and  Trent  rivers,  brick  were  employed  for 
building  purposes  and  many  of  the  old  Huguenot  fami- 
lies suffered  terribly,  burying  their  dead  from  diseases  in- 
cident to  life  in  brick  houses,  in  a  damp,  warm,  malarial 
climate.  So  you  see  the  house  is  of  wood,  but  of  such 
wood  as  the  modern  house  builder  never  finds  in  these 
days.  It  is  the  very  best  of  the  original  forests,  carefully 
selected  and  seasoned  in  such  manner  as  to  preclude  wind 
shakes,  seams  or  cracks.  The  truth  is  these  old  planters, 
except  in  a  fox  hunt  or  deer  chase,  were  not  of  the  order 
of  men  to  hurry  about  anything,  and  least  of  all  in  the 
selection  of  material  in  the  construction  of  their  fine  old 
homes. 

We  must  hurry  up  and  describe  this  old  mansion,  for 
there  are  many  things  of  interest  to  be  told  about  it, 
and  supper  will  be  ready  before  you  know  it.  Come,  let 
,,  us  enter  the  old  home.  This  piazza  extending  all  around 
the  house,  first  and  second  stories,  is  about  twelve  feet 
in  breadth;  and  you  observe  the  windows,  of  large  size, 
open  down  to  the  floor.  Well,  the  front  door  is  wide 
open. 

"Why  do  you  lift  your  hat  as  you  enter?" 

"I  do  so  in  reverence  of  what  I  know  is  within." 

"Yes,  full  right  you  are." 

This  old  roof  tree  shelters  the  spot  sacred  to  the  very 
finest  forms  of  old-fashioned  Southern  hospitality,  the 
decadence  of  which  we  have  witnessed  to  a  saddening  de- 
gree since  1865,  but  which  still  lingers  here  and  there 
in  the  South;  not,  however,  of  the  order  which  challenged 
the  admiration  of  all  who  felt  the  touch  of  our  lares  and 
penates  in  the  good  old  plantation  days.  The  hallway, 
running  the  whole  depth  of  the  house,  is  very  broad,  and 
the  two  sets  of  stairways  are  correspondingly  broad  and 
of  easy  pitch  or  grade,  to  compensate  in  some  degree  for 


38  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  modern  elevator.  You  observe  as  you  pass  along  the 
hall  you  are  met  by  another  hall  just  as  broad,  cutting 
the  one  by  which  we  enter  at  right  angles.  Another  fea- 
ture of  these  broad  halls  is  that  quite  as  much  money  is 
judiciously  expended  in  furnishing  them  as  in  any  other 
part  of  the  old  home,  while  hammock-hooks  suggest  an 
indefinable  comfort  of  a  hot  day,  and  book  shelves  tell 
you  that  the  old  planter's  life  consisted  not  in  "bread 
alone,"  but  that  books  entered  largely  into  the  life  on  one 
of  these  noble  old  estates.  \  Here  and  there,  beside  the  hat 
or  cloak  stands  of  fine  old  mahogany,  you  observe  the  pol- 
ished horns  of  the  patriarchs  of  flock  and  herd  fastened  se- 
curely under  the  old  pictures  gracing  the  walls.  As  you 
just  now  entered  the  large  folding  front  door  to  your  right 
hand,  through  that  heavy  door  of  oak  finish,  you  enter  the 
large  parlor,  with  its  piano,  violin  and  guitar  cases,  and 
such  bestowment  of  fine  taste  and  ample  means,  in  rich 
old  furniture,  with  oil  paintings  and  f->  lb  carpets  and 
rugs  as  you  would  expect  to  find  in  the  planter's  home. 
The  south-east  corner  room  was  tiie  bedchamber  of  my 
father  and  mother,  while  across  the  hail  was  the  nursery, 
and  opposite  the  parlor  was  the  family  living  or  sitting 
room.  In  the  two  stories  above  were  the  rooms  peculiarly 
devoted  to  the  comfort  of  the  daughters  of  the  planter 
and  the  guests  of  the  family.  The  attic  rooms  were  de- 
voted to  the  storage  of  bedclothing,  cedar  chests  for 
woolens,  trunks  and  such  other  features  of  a  well  ap- 
pointed family.  As  you  pass  out  of  the  large  hall,  run- 
ning north  and  south  across  the  broad  piazza,  you  enter 
into  another  piazza  in  front  of  the  large  dining  room 
opening  back  to  one  of  the  largest  kitchens  you  would  be 
likely  to  meet,  with  every  convenience  of  closets  for  china 
and  storerooms  numerous  and  spacious. 

Stop  a  moment.  [Look  at  that  capacious  kitchen  fire- 
place, broad  enough  to  take  in  logs  of  wood  six  feet  long 
and  with  old-fashioned  crane  for  swinging  the  large  pots 
on  and  off,  as  the  old  cook  might  like,  with  its  smooth 
hearth  running  the  whole  width  of  the  chimney  and 
back  three  or  four  feet  into  the  room.  Why  is  this  hearth 
so  broad  ?     For  two   reasons.     First,   it   guards   against 


The  Old  Plantation.  39 

the  danger  of  fire;  secondly,  on  its  broad  area,  in  small 
ovens  and  tin  kitchens,  are  carried  to  perfection  some 
of  the  finest  forms  of  good  cooking  of  savory  dishes  for 
which  this  era  of  plantation  life  is  so  justly  celebrated^ 
What  hooks  are  those  driven  into  the  bricks  just  below  the' 
broad  shelf  or  mantelpiece?  They  are  employed  when  a 
wild  turkey  or  a  roast  of  venison  are  there  cooked,  basted 
meantime  with  vinegar  and  lard  or  butter,  being  con- 
stantly turned  around  so  as  to  present  no  one  side  too 
long  to  the  roaring  fire  as  to  burn  the  meat,  while  the 
metal  dish  underneath  catches  all  the  juices  as  they  are 
distilled  by  the  great  heat  from  the  roaring  fire.  What 
large  block  of  wood  is  that  standing  between  the  windows 
on  one  side  of  the  kitchen,  about  three  feet  in  diameter 
and  four  feet  high?  That  is  where  the  old  cook  beats 
her  famous  biscuit,  which  are  the  most  delightful  of  all 
breads.  Defying  and  despising  both  baking  powder  and 
soda,  the  old-fashioned  Southern  beaten  biscuit  is  the 
very  nonpareil  of  breakfast  or  supper  bread,  equally  good, 
hot  or  cold,  in  its  flaky  lightness.  The  French  cooks  of 
neither  New  York  nor  Paris  have  ever  been' able  to  equal 
it.  In  very  truth  it  surpasses  the  famous  Vienna  rolls 
of  the  Washington  City  club  houses.  In  their  highest 
perfection  they  have  sadly  disappeared,  witTithe  old  tur- 
baned  cooks  of  the  old  plantation  regime,  who  mastered 
all  their  secrets.  Later  on  we  shall  sample  old  Aunt 
Patty's  beaten  biscuit  but  we  must  hurry  out  of  the 
kitchen,  for  we  have  much  to  see  before  we  go  down  to 
the  quarter. 

Standing  on  the  kitchen  piazza  and  looking  east  to 
your  left  and  in  front,  there  is  an  area  in  form  of  a 
quadrangle  about  one  hundred  feet  on  each  side.  In  the 
center  of  this  area  is  a  well  of  water,  supplied  with  a 
pump,  well  sheltered  and  with  vines  of  honeysuckle  trained 
to  the  sides.  What  houses  are  those  with  broad  shelters 
facing  south  and  west  on  this  area  ?  These  are  the  smoke 
houses,  three  in  number,  in  which  the  hams  of  five  hun- 
dred hogs  are  cured  annually.  Those  other  houses  are 
what  are  called  the  flour  house,  the  coffee  house  and  the 
large  storehouse  for  groceries,  etc?     In  the  rear  of  thg 


40  The  Old  Plantation. 

smoke  houses  are  smaller  houses  for  the  storage  of  pota- 
toes and  oysters  in  the  shell.  These  delicious  bivalves  are 
kept  in  a  dark  room  and  are  so  well  fed  with  meal  stirred 
into  salt  water  as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  stay  in  their 
shells.  Unfortunately,  however,  they  will  lose  their 
flavor  after  a  few  days,  showing  clearly  that  we  cannot 
compete  with  nature.  Just  in  the  rear  of  these  houses,  on  v 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  so  as  to  be  kept  perfectly  dry,  are 
the  various  and  spacious  houses  for  poultry  of  all  kinds, 
as  well  as  the  stately  peacock,  the  strutting  old  turkey 
gobbler,  the  guinea  fowl,  the  several  varieties  of  ducks 
(the  muscovy,  the  puddle  and  the  English)  and  the  ordi- 
nary barnyard  fowl  or  chicken.  They  are  all  here  in  this 
yard  of  two  acres  or  more,  well  fenced  in,  secure  from  the 
egg-sucking  cur  of  the  negro  quarter,  as  well  as  from  mink 
or  weasel  at  night. 

Coming  out  of  the  poultry  yard,  let  us  go  through  the 
east  gate  of  the  area  on  which  stands  the  large  pump  above 
described.  To  your  left,  through  the  gateway,  let  us 
enter  and  see  if  you  ever  saw  a  more  beautifully  appointed 
vegetable  garden?  In  extent  about  an  acre,  it  embraces 
in  its  various  products  all  that  you  may  wish  to  find,  from 
the  delicate  tropical  egg  plant  to  the  more  commonplace 
cabbage.  Here  they  all  are.  You  need  not  wonder  at 
the  delicious  vegetables  found  in  such  great  abundance  on 
the  planter's  table.  Coming  out  of  the  garden  what  build- 
ings are  those  off  to  the  left?  The  first  you  see  are  the 
weaving  rooms,  in  which  are  manufactured  all  the  fabrics 
with  which  the  servants  of  the  plantation  are  clothed, 
including  the  woolen  goods  for  winter  and  those  cf  cotton 
for  the  summer.  Those  other  houses  you  see  down  yon- 
der, six  in  number,  are  where  the  house  servants  are 
quartered. 

There  live  dear  old  Aunt  Pheribe  and  her  husband, 
Uncle  Daniel.  In  the  next  house  live  Cicero,  the  coach- 
man, and  his  wife  Eliza.  In  the  next  dwell  Handy, 
the  dining  room  servant,  and  the  laundress,  Jane,  with 
her  family  of  girls,  who  are  maids  to  the  young  ladies. 
Off  to  the  south  of  the  mansion,  and  separated  from  it 
by  a  large  flower  garden,  is  an  enclosure  of  two  acres  or 


The  Old  Plantation.  41 

more  devoted  to  almost  every  variety  of  small  fruit. 
Here  were  grown  some  of  the  very  finest  melons  that 
ever  graced  a  Southern  breakfast  table  and  the  corn  for 
the  table  that  made  such  fine  fritters. 

A  description  of  this  old  home  would  not  be  complete 
were  you  not  told  of  the  use  to  which  that  large  enclosure 
west  of  the  chicken  yard  is  put.  Why  is  the  fence  so 
high?  Why  are  those  pieces  of  timber  driven  so  far 
down  in  the  ground,  the  ends  of  which  you  see  projecting? 
Come,  go  with  me  to  the  gate  for  a  moment  and  we  will 
see.  Here  they  come — Staver,  Nimrod,  Fashion,  Venus, 
Starlight,  Little  Jolly  and  all  the  twenty  or  more  of 
splendid  fox  hounds — eager  and  anxious  to  dash  by  you 
and  hurry  away  to  the  woods  for  the  chase.  Is  not  that 
a  splendid  Irish  setter  there?  Did  you  ever  see  a  more 
beautiful  animal  in  your  life  than  that  coal  black  pointer, 
black  as  night  except  one  white  toe?  Beautiful  names 
they  have — Inez  for  the  pointer,  Don  for  the  setter.  The 
tall  fence  and  the  spiling  driven  into  the  ground  now  ex- 
plain themselves.  This  is  the  dog  kennel,  with  all  its 
appointments  for  comfort  and  health  for  one  of  the  best 
packs  of  hounds  found  in  North  Carolina.  Why  does  the 
old  planter  keep  those  fine  bucks  in  the  kennel  with  the 
dogs?  It  is  to  familiarize  the  dogs  with  sheep  and  thus 
prevent  many  a  worry  on  the  hunt.  As  we  expect  to 
follow  these  dogs  in  a  fox  chase  we  will  now  leave  them 
and  inquire  for  what  purpose  those  comfortable  looking 
cottages  up  there  on  the  hill  are  put?  They  were  built 
by  the  old  planter  when  his  sons  became  large  enough  to 
go  out  to  parties  at  night,  so  that  they  would  not  disturb 
their  mother  when  they  came  home  late,  often  accompanied 
by  their  young  friends.  We  might  spend  an  hour  or  so 
very  pleasantly  in  the  old  flower  garden,  looking  at  the 
rich  products  of  the  fine  taste  of  the  mistress  in  this 
department;  but  who  is  this  coming  up  the  walk  with 
rather  stately  step  and,  as  he  approaches,  greets  the  two 
young  gentlemen  as  they  come  out  of  their  offices?  This 
is  an  A.M.  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  and 
who  afterwards  stood  conspicuous  among  the  Presbyterian 
divines  of  the  State,  as  well  for  his  broad  learning  as  his 


42  The  Old  Plantation. 

deep  spirituality.  Would  you  know  his  name?  This  is 
the  Eev.  James  Melsey  Sprunt,  as  fine  a  type  of  a  man, 
intellectually  and  morally,  as  ever  blessed  two  young 
Southerners  in  the  capacity  of  tutor.  Before  this  volume 
is  finished  we  hope  to  see  him  again,  as  he  sits  around  the 
hearthstone  of  the  old  home  of  a  winter's  night  and  with 
kindling  eye  and  the  sweetest  of  voices  reads  aloud  Shake- 
speare, the  Waverley  novels,  Dickens,  Bulwer,  and  others 
authors  of  world  wide  fame. 


The  Old  Plantation.  43 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Thus  you  have  had  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  planter's 
home,  so  far  as  that  portion  in  which  he  lived  is  concerned. 
Let  us  go  down  to  the  quarter  and  both  inspect  and  de- 
scribe the  buildings  in  which  the  servants  lived,  and  then 
we  shall  the  more  intelligently  observe  what  fine  speci- 
mens of  health  are  presented  by  both  the  men  and  wo- 
men of  this  estate.  But  you  appear  to  be  fatigued  and 
maybe  we  had  better  defer  this  until  Monday,  for  to- 
morrow will  be  Sunday,  and  the  old  planter  insists  upon 
everybody  going  to  church?  We  will  go  in  pres- 
ently and  enjoy  the  evening  breeze  on  the  south  piazza  as 
it  comes  from  the  sea,  for,  though  in  an  air  line  we  are 
some  twenty  miles  from  the  ocean,  regularly  at  this  sea- 
son of  the  year  we  get  the  cool,  moist  breeze,  with  its 
salty  taste,  as  God  sends  it  to  us,  by  His  great  laws  which 
govern  the  winds  and  the  tides.  The  horses  are  ordered 
for  10:30  to-morrow  morning  (you  said  you  preferred  the 
saddle  to  the  carriage,  did  you  not?)  and  now  for  a  little 
chat  on  the  piazza  and  our  supper,  and  then  some  music 
or,  if  you  prefer  it,  we  will  ride  over  and  see  if  those 
girls  came  up  from  Wilmington  to  the  neighboring  plan- 
tation. 

Just  then  a  gentleman  some  fifty-five  years  of  age  made 
his  appearance.  You  cannot  mistake  him.  The  age  and 
the  conditions  which  produced  him  have  passed  away,  and 
yet  he  lives  in  the  memory  of  all  who  have  ever  seen  him. 
This  particular  representative  of  that  noble  type  of  South- 
ern life,  the  old-fashioned  country  gentleman,  was  some* 


44  The  Old  Plantation. 

what  above  the  average  height  and  size,  about  five  feet 
eleven  inches  tall  and  weighing  some  hundred  and  sixty- 
flve.  He  was  not  strikingly  handsome,  but  with  the  class 
of  face  suggested  by  that  of  the  old  German  Field  Marshal 
Von  Moltke.  With  an  ease  of  manner  betokening  gentle 
breeding,  his  marked  characteristic  was  that  peculiar  type 
of  manliness  which  came  to  a  long  line  of  progenitors  liv- 
ing much  in  the  open  air.  It  was  singularly  attractive. 
His  voice  was  that  peculiar  to  the  genuine  sons  of  the 
South,  soft,  yet  strong  and  singularly  flexible,  with  marked 
emphasis  given  to  the  softer  vowel  sounds.  His  hair,  orig- 
inally jet  black,  was  now  tinged  with  gray,  and  from  the 
large,  soft  blue  eyes  there  was  an  expression  of  such  ten- 
derness as  you  always  associate  with  a  devoted  husband  . 
and  kind  father.  There  was  a  compression  of  the  lip,  in- 
dicative of  much  will  power,  while  the  other  features  be- 
tokened the  presence  of  so  much  that  was  notable  and 
lovable,  it  would  ever  warrant  one  in  thinking  of  this  old 
planter  as  of  such  fine  stamp,  that  while 

"His  enemy  could  do  no  right,  his  friend  could  do  no  wrong." 

Near  by  him  sat  his  other  half,  the  blessed  woman 
whom  he  had  led  from  the  neighboring  county  to  grace 
his  home  and  bless  his  life  with  that  more  than  talismanic 
power  which  God  has  given  to  women  in  the  bestowment 
of  that  far-reaching  unselfishness  which  is  constantly  sug- 
gesting the  Virgin's  Son,  and  which  is  at  once  the  source 
and  secret  of  her  strength  and  influence.  Married  in 
the  early  part  of  the  century,  so  close  and  happy  had  been 
their  married  life  that  the  blessed  work  of  mutual  assim- 
ilation had  gone  on  to  such  a  degree,  that  in  many  re- 
spects they  were  strikingly  alike.  To  this  marriage  came 
the  gift  of  nine  children,  four  of  whom  had  died  in  in- 
fancy or  early  childhood,  leaving  now  two  sons,  the  pres- 
ent writer  and  an  older  brother,  and  three  daughters. 
The  oldest  daughter  had  married  a  Wilmington  gentle- 
man, gave  birth  to  a  lovely  little  girl  and  then  fell  asleep, 
when  we  placed  her  in  the  "God's  Acre"  of  her  fathers. 
Soon  thereafter  the  second  sister  married  Dr.  W.  W.  D. 
of  Wilmington,  and  leaving  two  sons,  went  into  the  Great 


>i 


The  Old  Plantation.  45 

Beyond  to  join  her  loved  ones  in  the  Paradise  of  God. 
But  this  is  not  a  volume  of  genealogy.  The  above  family 
events  have  been  given  in  order  that  in  proper  connection 
may  be  stated  a  peculiarity  of  the  old  planter.  One  of 
the  conditions  of  the  marriage  of  these  daughters  was 
that  the  husband  was  not  to  take  the  wife  away  from  the 
old  home.  The  dear  old  father  said,  with  telling  pathos, 
that  the  family  was  too  small,  the  acreage  on  the  estate 
was  far  too  great,  and  that  the  old  mansion  was  far  too 
large  to  allow  of  any  colonizing.  So  we  all  dwelt  there 
together,  with  cares,  duties  and  responsibilities  so  di- 
vided out  as  to  suggest  the  presence  of  no  drone  in  the 
large  hive. 

But  it  is  the  supper  bell  we  hear  and  after  this  meal, 
you  remember,  it  was  suggested  that  we  should  ride  over 
to  the  neighboring  plantation  and  see  the  girls  of  the 
old  planter.  We  shall  not  describe  this  charming  meal, 
because  in  another  chapter  we  are  to  tell  at  length  of 
the  cookery,  both  in  the  great  house  and  in  the  cabin.  All 
went  the  next  day  and  heard  a  most  excellent  sermon, 
in  the  commodious  church,  so  arranged  as  to  allow  the  pres- 
ence of  a  large  number  of  the  servants.  You  would  have 
been  delighted  to  have  seen  how  smart  and  tidy  these 
servants  were,  as  they  appeared  in  their  part  of  the 
church  building,  dressed  up  in  their  Sunday  go-to-meet- 
ing clothes,  reverently  kneeling  to  worship  that  God,  un- 
known to  the  poor  pagans  in  Africa  from  which  their  fath- 
ers came.  Sunday  afternoon  was  passed  in  various  ways. 
Some  of  the  servants  interchanged  visits  on  the  home  plan- 
tation, or,  furnished  with  written  permits,  went  to  see 
their  friends  on  the  neighboring  estates.  Some  went  out 
to  the  lake  to  bathe,  riding  the  horses  they  worked  dur- 
ing the  week,  in  order  to  give  both  themselves  and  the 
horses  a  good  bath  in  this  beautiful  sheet  of  limpid  water. 
Ten  o?clock  at  night  found  all  of  this  large  family  com- 
fortably established  at  home,  ready  for  the  refreshment  of 
a  night's  healthy  sleep,  except  those  men  servants  who  had 
married  on  the  adjoining  plantations,  where  they  had  gone 
on  Saturday  afternoon.  These  came  in  time  for  the  as- 
sembly call,  rung  about  sunrise  on  Monday  morning, 


46  The  Old  Plantation. 

We  will  get  the  most  satisfactory  view  of  the  quarter 
by  beginning  at  the  east  end  of  the  principal  street  and, 
as  we  go  along,  carefully  observing  right  and  left.  This 
street  the  negroes  called  Broadway,  and  broad  it  was  sure 
enough,  as  in  width  about  seventy  feet  it  ran  almost  due 
east  and  west  for  a  long  distance.  The  houses,  separated 
about  fifty  feet  from  each  other,  were  built  up  some 
distance  from  the  driveway,  with  footpaths  running  along 
in  front  of  them.  Some  of  these  were  of  cypress  logs  closely  ■ 
joined  together  and  made  perfectly  tight  with  mortar, 
with  hog  or  cow  hair  worked  in  it  to  make  it  stick  in 
the  crevices.  They  varied  in  size,  as  did  the  frame 
houses  which  were  scattered  here  and  there;  the  larger 
ones  were  given  to  the  larger  families  for  greater  com- 
fort and  healthfulness.  In  size  the  average  house  was 
about  thirty  feet  in  length  by  twenty- two  in  breadth, 
and  was  divided  into  two  rooms  downstairs — one  the 
cooking  and  living  room,  the  other  the  family  sleeping 
room — while  the  upstairs  was  similarly  divided.  Nearly 
all  of  these  were  furnished  with  good  brick  chimneys  and 
ample  fireplaces.  In  warm  weather  the  cooking  was  done 
out  of  doors  under  an  improvised  bush  shelter.  Fre- 
quently both  the  front  and  the  back  of  the  houses  were 
protected  by  shelters  wider  far,  and,  for  their  purposes, 
a  great  deal  more  comfortable  than  the  modern  veranda. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house  was  the  family  back  yard,  with 
its  henhouse  and  its  plot  of  ground  for  a  garden,  with 
which  each  home  was  supplied.  The  provident  families 
were  never  without  vegetables,  and  notably  so  did  the  long 
stalked  member  of  the  cabbage  family  known  as  the 
"coliard"  abound,  which,  when  well  frosted,  was  both 
esculent  and  savory  to  their  appetites,  well  whetted  by 
a  life  in  the  open  air  and  its  perfect  freedom  from  care 
and  responsibility — those  twin  murderers  of  happiness 
in  human  life. 

Come,  go  in  one  of  the  cabins,  as  many  will  insist  on 
calling  the  homes  of  the  servants  on  the  old  plantation. 
You  will  see  they  differ  among  themselves.  Some  are 
as  neat  and  tidy  as  the  wife  and  mother  who  meets  you  at 
the  door  and  with  graceful  courtesy  and  kindly  greeting 


The  Old  Plantation.  47 

invites  you  in;  respectfully,  yet  warmly,  inquiring  about 
the  white  folks  at  the  "great  house — Ole  Marster  and 
Mistiss  and  Marse  John  and  Marse  Jeems  and  Miss 
Car" line."  If  you  go  in  the  sleeping  room  you  will  find 
that  the  prevailing  bed  is  made  of  the  long  gray  Spanish 
moss,  with  which  the  swamps  to  the  east  of  the  planta- 
tion abound.  This  moss  they  boil  and  pick  with  their 
ringers,  stuffing  their  bedticks  with  it,  so  as  to  make  a  soft 
and  springy  bed.  They  draw  their  quota  of  blankets 
every  winter  from  the  plantation  stores  and,  what  with 
their  quilts  and  comforters,  which  they  make  themselves, 
and  the  abundance  of  excellent  firewood,  there  is  no  suf- 
fering from  cold,  such  as  comes  to  mind  when  you  think 
of  the  white  tenement  sufferers  in  New  York  and  other 
large  cities.  It  is  not  stated  that  there  are  equal  com- 
fort and  cleanliness  in  all  these  forty  homes  and  more. 
Some  of  these  servants  are  constitutionally  neat  and 
thrifty;  others  again  will  discover,  in  many  ways,  the 
fact  that  their  mothers  and  fathers  taught  them  by  ex- 
ample to  neglect  order,  system  and  the  laws  of  cleanli- 
ness. 

In  the  matter  of  health  and  consequent  usefulness 
the  planter,  through  his  foreman,  insisted  upon  a  rigid 
police  of  each  house  every  week,  with  such  penalties  as  in 
his  judgment  conduced  to  a  high  standard  of  cleanliness 
and  health,  as  well  in  the  house  as  about  the  clothing. 
In  the  center  of  these  buildings  and  just  in  the  middle 
of  the  broad  street,  at  the  point  of  junction  with  a  cross 
street,  was  the  town  well,  with  abundant  supply  of  po- 
table water.  The  streets  were  well  shaded  by  long  rows 
of  fine  elms  and  maples,  while  in  the  back  yard  is  grown 
in  many  cases,  the  mulberry  tree,  whose  abundant  sup- 
ply of  fruit  is  so  useful  to  Aunt  Polly  in  feeding  her 
chickens  and  ducks;  nor  is  it  despised  by  her  children. 

There  are  two  or  three  features  about  the  quarter  of 
which  mention  must  be  made.  In  the  garden  of  each  one 
of  these  homes  is  a  pig  pen,  in  which  two  fine  hogs  are  raised 
each  year  by  the  most  thrifty  of  the  servants.  Where 
do  they  get  the  grain  with  which  to  raise  and  fatten  these 
pigs?     The  head  of  nearly  every  family  has  his  patch  of 


48  The  Old  Plantation. 

ground,  in  which  he  grows  corn,  peas  and  cotton,  or  any 
crop  he  prefers.  When  does  he  work  his  crop?  On 
Saturday  afternoon  or  by  moonlight,  if  he  likes  to  do  so, 
instead  of  going  coon  hunting.  So  yon  see,  that  Sambo, 
drawing  his  rations,  has  meat  to  sell,  and  "Ole  Marster" 
always  allows  him  to  take  his  "crap"  to  town  in  the  large 
wagons,  which  invariably  go  to  NewBerne  justbef  ore  Christ- 
mas to  do  the  plantation  trading.  Besides  this,  the  old 
planter  always  stands  ready  to  purchase  anything  market- 
able— eggs,  chickens,  ducks  and  wild  fruit  (whortle- 
berries and  currants)  with  which  the  woods  abound  in 
their  season.  You  must  not  think  for  one  moment  that 
all  the  servants  on  the  old  plantation  have  all  these  things 
to  sell.  They  do  not.  Only  the  thrifty  ones;  and  the 
rule  was,  almost  without  exception,  that  those  who  were 
most  faithful  in  the  performance  of  plantation  duties 
were  industrious  and  frugal  in  their  own  little  mat- 
ters. 

Let  us  speak  of  the  laws  of  sanitation,  which  were 
rigidly  enforced.  Twice  each  year  these  homes,  inside 
and  outside,  were  carefully  whitewashed.  Once  each  week 
the  yards  were  carefully  inspected  and  all  rubbish  and 
garbage,  under  penalty,  were  placed  on  that  compost  heap 
you  see  there  near  the  garden  fence,  heavily  covered 
with  marl,  rich  in  lime,  to  decompose  or  sweeten  any 
putrescent  matter  and  thus  keep  the  premises  seemly  and 
healthy.  Again,  do  you  see  those  oblong  iron  deposi- 
tories, mounted  on  posts,  enclosed  in  boxes,  filled  with 
earth  along  the  sides  and  underneath?  What  are  they 
and  to  what  purpose  are  they  given?  Those  large,  iron 
troughs,  six  feet  and  more  in  length,  four  feet  wide  and 
some  ten  inches  in  height,  are  the  old  salt  vats  employed 
in  the  making  of  salt,  by  evaporation  of  sea  water  in  the 
the  war  of  1812,  when  the  British  embargo  closed  our 
ports  to  the  West  India  salt.  The  old  planter  has  pur- 
chased a  number  of  them  and  mounted  them  as  you  see. 
They  are  filled  with  the  resinous  residuum  from  his  tur- 
pentine distilleries,  commonly  known  as  dross,  every  after- 
noon during  the  sickly  or  malarial  season:  and  when  set 
to  blazing,  as  they  are  every  evening  about  twilight,  three 


The  Old  Plantation.  49 

purposes  are  served.  First,  they  flood  the  village  or 
quarter  with  strong  light;  secondly,  they  infuse  the  fumes 
of  cooking  turpentine  in  the  air  and  thus  purify  it ;  third- 
ly, they  destroy  myriads  upon  myriads  of  mosquitoes  and 
thus  sweeten  the  sleep  of  these  dusky  toilers.  You 
observe  they  are  placed  all  along  the  streets  and  four  of 
them  are  seen,  two  in  front  and  two  in  the  rear  of  the 
mansion.  It  was  indeed  a  beautiful  sight,  that  of  these 
burning  masses  all  ablaze  at  once,  lighting  up  the  truth 
of  the  old  planter's  love  for  his  children  and  his  servants 
in  thus  protecting  their  health. 

You  observe  that  especially  comfortable  looking  house, 
just  across  the  street  from  where  we  are  standing,  and 
the  other  next  to  it  ?  Those  are  the  homes  of  two  of  the 
foremen  on  the  plantation;  Uncle  Jim  with  his  wife, 
Aunt  Patty,  live  in  one,  and  Uncle  Suwarro  and  Aunt 
Eachel  occupy  the  other,  with  their  respective  families. 
What  is  that  suspended  high  up  in  the  air,  just  there  be- 
tween those  two  houses?  That  is  the  old  plantation  bell 
which,  in  the  hands  of  Uncle  Jim,  regulates  the  move- 
ments of  the  servants,  calling  them  to  and  from  labor 
and  telling  out  the  hours  for  the  various  duties.  Whose 
cabin  or  home  is  that  just  behind  that  large  tree — "Pride 
of  China/'  I  think  you  call  the  variety?  That  is  Grand- 
daddy  Cain's  home  and  where  his  wife,  my  dear  old 
"Mammy  Phillis,"  lives.  The  old  man  you  see  there  in 
the  shade  of  the  tree,  hackling  corn  shucks  for  mattresses, 
is  the  patriarch  of  the  whole  plantation.  He  is  quite  old, 
but  as  he  gets  up  and  walks  towards  the  door  of  his 
house  and  takes  a  drink  of  water  out  of  a  gourd,  do  you 
observe  what  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  man  he  is — how  tall  ? 
How  magnificently  develo}3ed  in  his  heyday  he  must  have 
been !  When  younger  he  was  the  plantation  miller  for 
many  years,  and  for  honesty  and  fidelity  there  was  no 
servant  on  all  the  river  estates  whose  reputation  was  more 
enviable.  His  word  was  as  good  as  his  bond,  and  no  man 
of  all  the  thousands  who  during  the  long  years  of  his 
service  brought  grain  to  my  grandfather's  mill  ever  sus- 
pected him  of  dishonesty  on  either  side.  In  his  old  age 
he  is  now  one  of  the  several  stock  feeders  on  tjie  estate^ 


50  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  }rou  can  see  him  presently  as  he  goes  down  to  the 
barnyard  to  get  out  his  mule  and  cart  and  starts  out  to 
salt  the  cattle  and  feed  the  mares  and  colts.  He  is  a 
devoted  member  of  the  Methodist  Church,  as  many  of  the 
servants  are.  He  holds  his  family  prayers  night  and 
morning,  rejoicing  with  many  others  in  the  hope  of  eternal 
life  through  the  Blessed  Nazarene.  When  the  present 
writer  was  a  boy  he  heard  a  good  joke  on  the  old  man, 
illustrating  his  racial  fondness  for  possum.  This  is  the 
plantation  version  as  given  by  my  factotum,  Cain,  his 
grandson. 

"You  sees,  suh,  dat  granddacldy  was  a-holdin'  his  fam- 
ily prayers  one  nite,  arter  he  done  swung  up  a  mity  big 
fat  possum  fo'  de  fiah.  It  was  Sa'ddy  nite,  suh,  an'  de 
possum  was  a-roastm'  for  the  Sunday  dinner.  De  ole 
man  he  prayed  and  he  prayed,  suh,  spang  'til  I  tho't  he 
neber  was  gwine  to  quit ;  and  he  prayed  on  and  he  prayed 
on.  All  of  a  sudden  he  stopped  rite  short  and  he  snuff'd 
de  air  and  called  out,  'Philis,  ole  woman,  sure's  yuh  is 
bawn  dat  possum  is  a-burnin?  up.  Why  doan'  yuh  turn 
dat  possum,  ole  woman,  and  dat  mi'ty  quick/  An7  he 
went  on  a-prayin'  and  arter  a  while,  suh,  he  busted  out 
'amen  V  Surely,  Marse  Jeems,  I  wuz  mi'ty  glad  to  hear 
him  say  amen,  for  I  was  mi'ty  tired,  suh;  but  I  was  afeard 
to  go  to  sleep,  fur  if  I  had  I  know'd  granddaddy  would 
have  wore  me  out  to  a  frazzle.  He  was  dat  'ticular,  suh, 
of  his  prayer.  Suah  as  you  is  born,  Marse  Jeems,  he 
duz  iov'  possum  all  de  same." 

AVe  shall  hope  to  see  Granddaddy  Cain  again  before 
this  volume  closes — this  Fidus  Achates  of  the  old  plan- 
tation. 


The  Old  Plantation.  51 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Let  us  take  this  cross  street,  running  out  of  Broadway 
into  what  the  servants  call  Chestnut  street.  What  strik- 
ingly large  building  is  that  which  fronts  us  as  we  go  on 
in  our  rambling  walk  of  observation?  That  is  what  is 
called,  in  the  parlance  of  the  plantation,  the  gin  house 
or  the  cotton  gin.  You  observe  it  is  very  large  and  three 
stories  in  height.  To  what  use  is  it  to  be  put?  You  see 
it  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  deep  shedding;  in  this 
first  shed  room  are  kept  the  large  family  carriage,  sulky, 
buggies  and  light  wagons,  some  from  the  celebrated  fac- 
tory of  Cook  in  New  Haven,  Connecticut,  and  several 
others  from  Dunlap  in  Philadelphia.  The  old  planter 
prided  himself  on  the  cost  and  elegance  of  his  vehicles, 
and  that  beautiful  family  carriage,  finished  in  silk,  did 
not  cost  him  less  than  a  thousand  dollars,  with  fine,  silver- 
plated  harness  to  correspond.  With  the  large,  steel-gray 
horses  purchased  in  Baltimore  it  makes  up  an  outfit  so 
exactly  suited  to  her  taste  that  the  mistress  would  not 
take  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  for  it.  There  is  a  well- 
appointed  harness  room,  some  of  the  very  best  of  Concord, 
New  Hampshire,  work.  Ah,  these  old  planters  and  their 
families  had  the  very  best  the  markets  of  the  world  could 
afford.  The  large  shed  room  on  the  east  is  known  as 
the  pork  house,  where  the  meat  rations  of  the  estate  are 
kept,  at  the  great  doorway  of  which  they  are  served  or 
dealt  out  by  weight  on  alternate  Saturday  afternoons. 
On  the  north  side  of  the  main  building,  in  a  commodious 
Well  lighted  shed  room,  is  where  the  carpenters,  four  in 


52  The  Old  Plantation. 

number,  ply  their  most  useful  industries.  On  the  west 
side  you  have  two  rooms,  one  in  which  Virgil,  the  painter, 
keeps  his  paints  and  oils;  the  other  is  where  the  various 
stores  of  hardware,  nails,  bolts,  screws,  etc.,  are  kept. 
What  octagon-shaped  house  is  that  out  in  the  yard? 
That  is  the  cotton  screw  or  compress,  where  the  cotton 
and  wool  are  baled  for  market.  That  stairway  out  there 
to  your  left  leads  up  to  where  the  cotton  is  kept  before 
it  is  ginned,  and  that  small  room  there  is  where  old 
Santy  mends  the  harness,  and  half  soles  the  shoes  of  the 
servants.  You  observe  in  it  the  only  stove  on  the  es- 
tate? Why  is  this?  This  stove  is  used  to  keep  the 
old  cobbler's  wax  ends  so  warmed  as  to  be  pliable  in  the 
coldest  of  weather.  You  see,  in  the  various  and  multi- 
form appointments  of  his  large  estate,  the  old  planter 
does  not  forget  anything.  Well,  we  must  go  on.  What 
buildings  are  those  down  there  in  that  little  ravine,  with 
the  large  gum  trees  growing  near  by  and  those  beautiful 
willows  fed  by  the  moisture  of  the  small  streams,  which 
constitutes  the  drainage  of  the  quarter?  These  are  the 
quarters  of  perhaps  the  most  useful  and  at  the  same  time 
the  most  interesting  servant  on  the  estate;  that  is  Eob- 
ert,  the  blacksmith,  and  that  Hercules  of  a  man  near  by 
is  Washington,  who  wields  the  ponderous  sledge  hammer 
as  though  it  were  a  toy.  Look  at  the  splendid  muscle  in 
those  brawny  arms,  as  he  and  his  chief  are  keeping  time 
with  their  hammers  on  the  blazing  iron  on  the  anvil. 
Indeed  it  is  an  anvil  chorus,  and  how  the  sparks  do  fly 
all  over  the  smithy,  but  they  are  well  protected  by  their 
ample  leather  aprons.  What  is  Eobert  doing  now?  He 
is  putting  a  set  of  steel  plates  on  that  beautiful  saddle 
horse  out  there  in  the  yard.  Does  he  work  in  steel  too? 
Yes,  he  served  his  apprenticeship  when  a  youth  under  one 
of  the  best  artisans  in  the  city  of  Richmond,  Virginia. 
So  you  see  there  is  skilled  labor  on  this  estate  as  well  as 
in  Lowell,  Massachusetts.  That  large  room  on  the  left 
is  where  Caesar,  the  wheelwright,  makes  and  repairs  the  carts 
and  wagons.  As  we  ascend  the  hill  from  this  ravine,  on 
that  broad  level  are  many  houses.  To  what  uses  are  they 
put?    Some  of  them  are  barns  and  cribs  for  the  storage 


The  Old  Plantation.  53 

of  grain  and  forage;  others  again  are  large  wagon  sheds 
and  others  still  for  the  comfortable  stabling  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  horses  and  mules  that  are  required  on  this 
estate.  Those  out  there  are  for  the  comfort  of  the  milch 
cows  and  the  five  yoke  of  oxen.  Over  there  in  a  more 
modern  building  are  kept  the  fancy  or  pleasure  horses 
of  the  family,  while  lower  down,  in  a  separate  lot  or  in- 
closure  with  high  fence  all  around,  are  the  stables  for  the 
two  fine  stallions,  "John  Kichlands"  and  Crackaway," 
the  latter  a  valuable  present  from  one  of  the  old  planter's 
dearest  friends,  William  B.  Meares,  Esquire,  of  Wil- 
mington; the  former  the  colt  of  Vashti,  the  celebrated 
Sir  Archy  mare  sired  by  imported  Trustee,  the  father 
of  the  world-renowned  Fashion,  the  empress  of  the  Amer- 
ican turf.  Do  you  hear  that  fearful  noise  down  there 
— a  sort  of  combine  of  foghorn  and  trombone?  My 
sakes !  what  an  unearthly  racket  that  is !  It's  the  bray 
of  old  "Dosy,"  the  jack,  sire  of  many  of  the  best  mules 
on  the  plantation.  Do  you  suppose  the  notes  of  Balaam's 
animal  were  either  as  deep  or  long  drawn  out?  Never. 
The  seer  would  have  been  deaf  as  well  as  blind  in  the 
angelic  interview.  But  the  disciples  of  the  higher  criti- 
cism must  answer  your  questions  satisfactorily  on  this 
point.  Whose  quarters  are  those  in  the  center  of  the 
quadrangle  on  which  faces  so  many  of  these  buildings? 
Those  are  rooms  known  as  the  storehouse,  in  one  of  which 
dear  old  Ben  sleeps,  and  in  which  are  kept  the  saddles 
and  bridles,  the  riding  outfit  of  the  family.  How  com- 
plete this  saddlery  is  !  Where  does  it  come  from  ?  Most- 
ly from  the  fine  shops  of  Nashville,  Tennessee,  and  one  or 
two  there  are  of  the  English  Shafter  pattern,  bearing  the 
London  trademark.  In  this  other  larger  room  are  kept 
the  shoes,  blankets  and  hats  not  yet  distributed  to  the 
servants,  while  back  in  there  you  will  find  hoes  of  vari- 
ous patterns,  from  the  narrow  bladed  rice  hoe  to  the 
broader  cotton  hoe,  rakes,  shovels,  axes,  pickaxes,  spades, 
pitchforks,  wagon  whips,  collars  large  and  small  for  horses 
and  mules.  What  small  room  is  that  with  long  table  and 
drawers,  well  supplied  with  hooks  inserted  in  the  wall. 
That  is  Ben's  inner  sanctuary  or  where  the  keys  of  the 


54  The  Old  Plantation. 

whole  plantation,  on  both  sides  of  the  creek,  are  securely 
kept  under  his  faithful  eye.  It  would  try  our  patience 
to  stop  long  enough  to  count  them  all,  but  this  faithful, 
honest  darky  knows  and  keeps  them  all  in  his  safe  cus- 
tody, while  he  is  always  ready  to  saddle  you  a  horse  if 
you  wish  to  ride  out  on  horseback,  or  on  that  long  bench 
cut  a  hamestring  for  Suwarro's  use  among  the  plowmen. 
We  shall  see  Ben  again  before  our  work  is  done,  for  you 
must  know  him  better.  He  is  the  embodiment  of  hon- 
esty with  some  of  the  queer  African  freaks,  in  its  racial 
fondness  for  dress  of  bright  coloring  and  fancy  materials. 
In  other  words,  Ben  is  the  dude  of  the  plantation,  the 
Beau  Brummel  of  his  race,  and  so  you  will  pronounce 
when  you  see  him  dressed  up  in  his  best  bib  and  tucker 
for  the  plantation  Christmas  dinner,  the  description  of 
which  is  yet  before  us.  Dear  old  Ben !  Blessed  old 
Ben !  He  is  gone  long  ago  where  the  good  darkies  go ! 
How  the  writer  wishes  he  had  a  good  likeness  of  him 
with  which  to  embellish  these  pages,  for  a  nobler  spirit 
never  breathed  the  breath  of  life.  Across  the  river  of  life 
in  the  Great  Beyond,  Ben,  I  wave  my  hand  to  you;  yes, 
I  kiss  my  hand  to  you  and  hope  soon  to  have  long,  long 
talks  with  you  of  the  good  old  plantation  days,  when  we 
will  thank  God  that  my  people  taught  your  people  to 
know  and  love  the  Christ,  the  King. 

There  are  some  other  things  before  us  and  we  must 
hurry  on.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  old  mansion,  and  in  the 
description  which  we  would  leave  of  it  let  us  insert  two 
or  three  features  of  the  outhouses,  and  just  one  on  the 
interior  of  the  house.  Let  us  go  upstairs  and  on  the  back 
piazza,  which  you  observe  is  without  roof,  and  see  what 
Edith  and  Kate,  the  maid  servants  of  the  writer's  sisters, 
are  doing.  They  are  helping  Handy,  the  dining  room 
servant,  to  bring  up  large  trays  of  fruit — peaches,  pears 
and  apples — to  be  dried  up  there,  where  nothing  will  dis- 
turb them  in  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun.  What  fruit  is 
that  of  deep  blood  color?  That  is  the  wild  plum  of  the 
plantation  and  those  trays  over  there  are  full  of  whortle- 
berries and  wild  currants.  All  of  this  wild  or  unculti- 
vated fruit  has  been  purchased  from  the  young  servants 


The  Old  Plantation.  55 

of  the  estate,  gathered  by  them  in  the  adjoining  wood- 
land stretching  far  away  to  the  south.  The  storeroom 
was  thus  well  supplied  with  delicious  dried  fruit,  and 
in  the  winter  pies,  tarts  and  dumplings  came  in  as  a  part 
of  the  dessert.  As  we  go  downstairs  in  the  hall  near  the 
old  planter's  bedroom  door  what  large  enclosure  of  black 
walnut  is  that  so  like  a  handsomely  finished  wardrobe? 
That  is  the  gun  case  or  closet.  Let  us  look  in.  Do  you 
see  that  large  double-barreled  gun  in  the  center  there? 
That  is  the  gun  from  a  London  manufactory  (not  Joe 
Manton's,  but  of  very  fine  workmanship)  and,  you  ob- 
serve, heavily  mounted  with  silver,  with  two  sets  of  bar- 
rels to  the  same  stock,  a  larger  set  for  the  larger  game  of 
bear  and  deer,  while  the  smaller  is  used  for  wild  turkey, 
partridges,  squirrels  and  other  smaller  game.  This  is  the 
planter's  special  property,  while  in  the  half-dozen  other 
guns  you  will  find  such  as  will  please  almost  any  one, 
likely  to  use  them.  Besides  the  shot  guns,  there  are  two 
or  three  rifles  of  different  calibre,  and  one  other  gun  of 
large  bore  and  great  weight  manufactured  at  the  United 
States  arsenal,  in  Fayetteville,  North  Carolina,  and  es- 
pecially  adapted   to  plantation   purposes. 

On  the  line  of  the  fence  dividing  the  poultry  yard 
from  the  dog  kennel,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  do  you  ob- 
serve that  brick  house  partly  embedded  in  the  hillside? 
That  is  the  most  complete  dairy  or  springhouse  in  this 
section  of  the  State.  Take  down  that  calabash  or  gourd 
and  dip  down  into  that  deep  basin  of  crystal  water  which 
wells  up  in  the  center.  No  limestone  there.  Pure  free- 
stone or  soft  water  and  deliciously  cool  and  very  pota- 
ble. Those  troughs  all  around  the  sides  of  the  dark, 
cool  room  are  for  the  pans  of  milk.  Let  us  count  them. 
One,  two,  three  and  so  on  to  twenty-four  pans  of  milk. 
How  yellow  and  rich  it  looks  while  the  cream  is  coming 
to  the  top.  Here  come  the  milkmaids  now.  Do  you  ob- 
serve, as  they  come  through  the  side  gate  en  route  to  the 
dairy,  with  what  ease  and  apparently  with  what  security 
they  balance  those  large  milkpails  filled  with  milk,  on 
their  heads  and  without  touching  them  with  their  hands? 
What  is  the  secret  of  their  ability  to  do  this?     Perfect 


56  The  Old  Plantation. 

health  and  strength,  with  long  training  from  childhood 
up,  running  through  generations,  it  may  be  from  the 
jungles  of  Africa. 

"How  many  cows  are  you  now  milking,  Aunt  Abby?" 
"'Bout  twenty-five,  suh." 
"What  do  your  cows  eat  now?" 
"Dey's  on  the  secon'  crap  of  rice  now,  suh." 
Thus  with  twenty-five  cows  to  milk  and  those  fed  on  the 
second  growth  of  the  rice  field,  after  the  crop  has  been 
harvested,  you  will  quite  understand  both  the  quantity  and 
quality  of  the  milk  and  butter  which    graced    the    old 
planter's  table. 

The  object  of  the  proprietor  of  this  estate  was  to  pro- 
duce, as  nearly  as  possible,  everything  consumed,  as  well 
on  the  plantation  proper,  as  in  the  turpentine  orchards. 
Thus  the  large  number  of  casks  of  spirits  of  turpentine, 
as  well  as  the  thousands  of  barrels  of  resin,  which  were 
sold  each  year  in  the  New  York  market,  produced  the 
monied  income  of  the  estate.  The  ordinary  yield  of  corn 
was  about  thirty-five  hundred  barrels,  with  a  large  quan- 
tity of  forage  in  fodder  belonging  to  this  crop,  and  they 
were  nearly  all  consumed  on  the  estate.  Aside  from  the 
large  number  of  beeves  butchered  on  the  estate,  there  were 
annually  a  large  number  sent  to  the  market,  while  five  hun- 
dred hogs  every  winter  went  to  the  shambles,  providing  the 
meat  rations  of  the  whole  plantation.  These  furnished 
a  supply  of  hams  for  the  planter's  table,  in  number  so 
great  that  they  went  over  from  year  to  year,  so  that  on  a 
highday  or  a  holiday  it  was  not  an  unusual  thing  to  have 
a  ham  on  the 'table  seven  years  old.  The  writer  is  en- 
titled to  an  opinion  on  the  subject  of  hams,  and  he  here 
ventures  to  say  that  not  even  the  Smithfield  ham  of  Vir- 
ginia nor  that  of  Westphalia  in  Europe  surpasses  those 
which  found  their  deep  russet  color  in  the  green  hickory 
and  corncob  smoke  of  the  old  plantation  smokehouse.  The 
flocks  of  sheep,  both  those  on  the  plantation  proper  and 
those  under  the  care  of  the  white  tenants  in  the  turpen-.. 
tine  orchards,  yielded  a  fine  supply  of  lambs  in  the  spring 
of  the  year  to  go  with  the  green  peas  of  the  early  garden, 
with  plenty  of  mutton  throughout  the  year;  while  in  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  57 

wool,  both  for  home  use  and  the  markets,  there  was  no 
little  profit.  Just  here  let  it  be  observed  that  among 
those  ill  informed  upon  subjects  upon  which  they  do  no 
little  talking,  and  but  little  well  informed  thinking,  the 
idea  is  common  that  there  was  little  or  no  care  taken  in 
the  selection  of  the  breeds  of  farm  animals  on  the  Southern 
estates.  It  is  true  that  the  "razor-backed"  hog  was  seen 
running  at  large  and  sometimes  as  wild  as  the  country 
in  which  they  were  found.  At  the  same  time,  on  this 
estate  and  many  others  there  were  several  improved 
breeds  of  swine,  the  Essex,  the  Poland  China,  the  Jersey 
Eeds,  the  Little  Guinea,  the  Chester  Whites,  and  that  per- 
fection of  a  farm  animal  of  its  kind,  the  Berkshire.  The 
proprietor  gave  particular  attention  to  the  breeding  of  the 
Merino  and  Southdown  sheep,  while  among  his  herds  of 
cattle  could  be  found  as  fine  specimens  of  Durham  and 
Devon  breeds  as  one  might  care  to  see.  This  you  must 
remember  was  before  the  introduction  of  the  Alderney, 
Jersey  or  Guernsey  from  those  small  islands  of  Eng- 
land. 

Among  other  products  of  this  estate  were  large  crops 
of  the  black-eyed  pea,  that  Southern  substitute  for  clover, 
and  with  this  advantage  to  the  pea,  in  that  it  was  both 
grain  and  forage;  some  eighty  or  a  hundred  bags  of  cot- 
ton, with  rice,  tobacco  and  sorghum  for  home  use.  One 
can  quite  understand  that  when  all  the  crops  of  this  estate 
had  been  carefully  harvested  and  the  hog-killing  or 
butchering  season  was  over,  with  the  era  of  "hog  and  hom- 
iny" fairly  ushered  in,  there  was  a  reign  of  such  an  abun- 
dance of  good  things  as  demanded  with  full  warrant  the 
observance  of  Christmas,  that  blessed  queen  of  all  the  plan- 
tation highdays  and  holidays,  to  which  justice  in  nowise 
could  be  done  until  at  least  a  full  week  had  been  allowed 
for  this  high  tide  of  enjoyment,  in  both  great  house  and 
cabin,  to  expend  its  force,  finding  its  ebb  on  January 
second,  when  all  entered  on  the  duties  of  the  new  year. 
You  may  be  upon  the  point  of  asking  what  were  the  ra- 
tions of  food  and  clothing  which  went  regularly  to  the 
servants  on  this  estate,  and  of  what  did  the  rations  con- 
sist?   You  shall  have  the  answer.     These  people  worked 


58  The  Old  Plantation. 

faithfully  and  they  should  have  been  warmly  clad  and 
abundantly  fed.  And  so  they  were.  The  rations  were 
issued  by  weight  on  alternate  Saturday  afternoons.  To 
each  servant  there  was  issued  for  these  fourteen  days 
a  half  bushel  of  cornmeal  and  seven  pounds  of  the  very 
best  mess  pork,  with  his  potatoes,  rice  and  sorghum,  to- 
gether with  his  twist  or  roll  of  tobacco.  The  bread  ra- 
tion was  often  not  drawn,  but  the  money  equivalent  paid 
at  market  rates,  which  ordinarily  were  fifty  cents  for 
meal  and  forty  cents  per  bushel  of  potatoes.  The  cloth- 
ing was  all  spun,  woven  and  made  on  the  plantation.  The 
work  by  which  this  was  done  was  the  outcome  of  the  most 
perfect  system  in  any  department  of  the  plantation  in- 
dustries. The  hum  of  the  spinning  wheel,  the  noise  of 
the  loom,  with  the  stirring  whiz  of  the  weaver's  shuttle 
(all  accompanied,  many  times,  by  the  melody  of  plant:  - 
tion  songs)  "Way  Down  on  de  Swannee  Kiver,"  "Carry  jV  > 
Back  to  Ole  Berginny,"  "Massa's  in  de  Cole,  Cole  Gromr 
and  many  others  which  will  grow  into  eternity  with  bless^ 
memory  as  the  writer  crosses  over  and  meets  his  demi- 
sable friends,  could  be  heard  from  January  to  Decem- 
ber. 

The  clothing  of  so  many  servants  required  a  great 
'deal  of  systematized  labor.  The  dyeing  process  was  sim- 
ple. The  barks  from  the  forest  trees,  the  red  oak,  the 
poplar  and  dogwood,  furnished  the  coloring,  which  was 
carefully  set  or  fixed  by  old  Aunt  Daphne,  by  the  judicious 
use  of  copperas  and  alum.  This  gave  a  serviceable  brown- 
ish gray  which  rarely  faded  either  in  the  woolen  or  cotton 
goods.  Those  bright  red  bars,  about  the  width  of  your 
little  finger,  in  the  dresses  of  the  young  women  and  girls 
you  see  there  fitting  them  so  snugly,  are  the  outcome  of 
cochineal,  known  as  "de  turkey  red"'  (and  red  it  was) 
which  gives  delight  to  African  eyes — just  as  scarlet 
as  that  seen  in  the  uniform  of  the  British  soldier  of 
revolutionary  days  in  "76  and  thereabouts.  To  each 
servant  were  allowed  three  full  suits  of  clothes  annually, 
with  plenty  of  wool  and  cotton  allowed  the  wives  and 
mothers  for  as  many  pairs  of  socks  and  stockings  as  they 
required.     Three  pairs   of   shoes,   one   pair   of   blankets, 


The  Old  Plantation.  59 

one  wool  and  one  straw  hat  went  annually  with  each  ra- 
tion. To  those  who  were  much  exposed  to  bad  weather, 
such  as  the  drivers  of.  the  mule  teams  and  ox-carts,  warm 
overcoats,  often  weather-proof,  were  issued.  The  men 
employed  in  ditching,  and  Uncle  Amos,  who  did  nothing 
but  hunt  and  "'stroy  varmints'7  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end  (making  the  best  wages  of  any  servant  on  the  es- 
tate, because  he  killed  so  many  eagles,  coons  and  an  oc- 
casional bear,  with  untold  numbers  of  squirrels,  black 
and  red  fox  and  the  gray  or  cat  squirrel),  were  given 
heavy  brogan  boots.  The  hides  and  skins  from  the  sheep 
and  cattle  slaughtered  during  the  year  were  exchanged 
for  shoes  and  the  leather  needed  for  harness  purposes  by 
Brown  &  De  Eossett,  the  commission  merchants  in  New 
York,  to  whom  was  also  consigned  the  wool  for  which  in 
exchange  we  received  hats  and  blankets. 

Thus  cared  for,  we  greatly  doubt  whether  any  European 
peasantry  or  the  lower  element,  the  farm  laborers  of  Eng- 
land's population,  or  any  factory  element  of  either  Old 
or  New  England  fared  as  well  as  did  the  servants  em- 
ployed on  this  Southern  plantation,  under  the  practical, 
judicious  and  humane  system  which  has  been  outlined  on 
these  pages.  In  maintaining  this  proposition  I  indulge  in 
no  misleading  theories  or  distempered  speculation.  I 
discard  the  vaporing  of  all  sickly,  maudlin  sentimental- 
ity when  I  say  that  no  laboring  population  was  ever  bet- 
ter housed,  better  fed,  better  clothed  or  more  humanely  em- 
ployed, as  a  rule  (in  which  self-interest  asserted  itself,  and 
where  does  it  not  assert  itself?)  than  were  the  servants 
on  this  old  estate  of  my  father's.  Would  you  ask  what 
there  is  to  justify  this  assertion?  The  answer  is  close  at 
hand.  Facts  substantiated  by  figures.  Statistics.  You 
say  that  statistics  are  misleading.  Yes.  One  can  lie  by 
figures,  as  seen  in  watered  stocks  in  Wall  street  and  else- 
where, but  figures  of  themselves  will  not  lie. 

The  rapidity  with  which  the  servants  on  the  Southern 
plantation  increased  in  number,  say  from  1810  to  1860, 
just  a  half  century,  for  the  sake  of  round  numbers,  is 
proof  conclusive  that  the  general  laws  of  health  must  have 
been  in  the  main  largely  obeyed,  and  the  conditions  of 


60  The  Old  Plantation. 

numerical  increase  in  families  must  have  been  complied 
with,  else  the  several  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dusky 
forms  of  African  laborers,  at  the  close  of  the  first  dec- 
ade of  this  century  would  not  have  grown  into  the  mil- 
lions which  we  all  know  were  found  south  of  the  Sus- 
quehanna in  1865.  From  a  general  statement  let  us 
pass  to  a  specific,  well  emphasized  demonstration  of  the 
truth  in  this  matter.  On  this  plantation  dwelt  two  mar- 
ried couples — Henry  with  his  wife,  Daphne,  and  George 
with  his  wife,  Emelene.  Thev  must  have  been  married 
in  the  late  twenties.  To  the  former  couple  were  born 
thirteen  children,  boys  and  girls,  twelve  of  whom  they 
reared  to  full  adult  age.  To  the  latter  were  born  eleven 
children,  of  whom  ten  reached  manhood  and  womanhood. 
In  other  words  the  increase  of  twenty-two  servants  from 
the  parentage  of  four  persons.  This  is  an  increase  of 
more  than  four  hundred  per  cent.,  and  tells  us  its  own 
story  of  kind  treatment.  Nor  have  we  any  ground  for  say- 
ing that  these  were  exceptional  cases,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  to-day  in  the  South  there  are  whole  Congres- 
sional districts  in  which  the  negroes  far  outnumber  the 
whites.  Nor  yet  can  anyone  (save  he  who  has  been 
misled  by  Mrs.  Stowe's  ex  'parte,  and  therefore  unfair, 
statement  in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin")  say  that  the  recital 
of  facts,  figures  and  conditions  on  these  pages  is  not  a 
fair  picture  of  the  old  plantation  life.  Doubtless  in  Vir- 
ginia on  the  James  River  estates,  in  South  Carolina  on 
the  Wade  Hampton  plantations,  and  elsewhere  in  the 
South,  there  were  many  instances  of  even  more  humane 
treatment  of  the  servants  than  is  given  here. 

But  we  will  go  into  no  elaborate  argumentation.  The 
day  for  that  is  over.  What  we  want  are  facts,  and  we 
are  meeting  Mrs.  Stowe's  statement,  not  by  argument,  but 
by  cool,  dispassionate  facts.  What  do  you  say  to  the  por- 
trayal of  an  element  of  African  character  in  the  form  of 
an  anecdote?     Nothing  pleases  me  more. 

Well,  it  was  a  week  of  Christmas.  Of  several  large 
gobblers,  already  fat,  which  had  been  put  up  in  the  large 
fattening  coop  to  be  flavored  by  the  peanuts  so  abundant, 
one  was  missed.     It  created  quite  a  stir.     Handy,  who 


The  Old  Plantation.  61 

fed  the  poultry,  was  excited,  half  mad  and  half  fright- 
ened, in  view  of  the  consequences.  Report  was  made  to 
Uncle  Jim,  Suwarro  and  Ben,  and  close  search  was  had. 
At  last,  so  close  was  the  search  for  the  fine  gobbler  which 
was  to  grace  "ole  MarsterV'  Christinas  dinner  table  that 
he  was  found  hid  away  in  old  Cupid's  ash  barrel.  Re- 
port was  made  and  arrest  ensued,  with  incriminating 
facts.  The  old  darky  sent  for  his  Marse  John.  His 
young  master  appearing,  the  following  conversation  en- 
sued: 

"Come,  now,  Uncle  Cupid,  tell  the  truth  about  it; 
the  whole  truth,  mind  you,  old  man,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth.     Are  you  sorry  or  not  that  you  stole  that  turkey  ?" 

The  old  darky's  racial  fondness  for  turkey  going  into 
the  background,  under  the  shadow  of  his  fear  of  penalty 
and  in  his  great  confidence  in  his  young  master,  he  called 
out: 

"Marse  John,  you  ax  fo'  de  truf,  doan'  yo'?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Cupid,  the  whole  truth." 

"Well,  now,  suh,  yo'  see  I  can't  say  so  mi'ty  much  'bout 
bein'  so  'ticular  sorry  I  tuk  dat  turkey;  but  'fore  Gord, 
suh,  young  marster,  I'se  mi'ty  sorry  I  was  co'ch." 

"That  will  do,  Ben,  let  him  go,  he  has  told  the  truth. 
Don't  steal  any  more  turkeys,  old  man.  Go  home,  now, 
and  I  will  always  stand  by  you  when  you  tell  the  truth, 
for  you  certainly  have  told  the  truth  this  time — not  so 
very  sorry  you  took  the  master's  turkey,  but  mighty  sorry 
you  were  caught." 

With  loving  laughter  in  his  old  eyes,  Cupid  went  on  to 
his  home  rejoicing,  while  Ben  and  the  other  servants 
laughed  most  heartily  at  the  old  man's  straightforward 
honesty  of  speech,  if  not  of  act. 


62  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

As  we  are  about  to  enter  on  the  description  of  the 
forest  wealth  of  this  estate — the  turpentine  orchards  of 
the  plantation,  on  which  was  expended  by  far  the  larger 
part  of  the  labor  and  from  which  the  revenue  was  mainly 
derived — it  will  be  well  if  we  pause  just  long  enough  here 
to  make  the  full  acquaintance  of  Uncle  Philip,  the  man- 
ager of  this  department.  In  many  respects,  he  was  the 
most  remarkable  person  of  his  class  the  writer  has  ever 
known.  He  was  now  about  sixty  years  of  age,  of  small 
stature,  a  genuine  blue-black,  as  active  as  a  boy  of  sev- 
enteen, and  as  quick  in  his  motions  as  the  beautiful  horse 
Selim,  which  he  rode.  This  animal  was  the  joy  and  pride 
of  the  old  man's  heart,  and  ranked  next  in  the  old  African's 
affection  to  his  old  master,  for  whom  he  bore  a  love  which 
was  the  outcome  of  a  close  relation  running  through  their 
lives.  Philip  had  come  down  with  the  plantation  from 
the  planter's  father.  In  childhood  and  boyhood,  and  in 
fact  thus  far  in  life,  they  had  really  been  boon  companions, 
together  learning  to  swim,  to  ride,  to  handle  firearms,  and 
thus  learning  to  know  and  to  trust  each  other  in  a  way 
and  to  a  degree  that  few  persons,  if  any,  thinking  of  the 
institution  of  which  their  close  relation  was  the  product, 
can  at  this  late  day  quite  understand. 

To  both  Fred  Douglas  and  Booker  Washington,  in  point 
of  advantage  given  them  by  education,  this  noble  old 
servant  must  necessarily  have  yielded ;  but  he  was  very 
little,  if  any,  inferior  to  any  man,  white  or  colored,  the 
writer  has  ever  known,  in  all  that  is  understood  by  keen 


The  Old  Plantation.  63 

active  mother  wit  and  strong  common  (or  rather  uncom- 
mon) sense.  Outside  of  his  small  family  there  was  no 
one  of  a  very  large  acquaintance  whom  the  old  planter 
loved  more  tenderly  or  trusted  more  implicitly.  Thor- 
oughly illiterate,  really  not  knowing  a  letter  in  the  book, 
he  was  fully  equal  to  all  the  details  of  his  large  and  im- 
portant trust.  His  memory,  naturally  strong  and  tenacious, 
by  constant  use  and  honest  trust  in  it,  served  him  in- 
stead of  memoranda,  and  his  verbal  report  of  the  week's 
work  which  went  on  the  plantation  books  regularly  every 
Saturday  afternoon,  was  both  full  and  accurate.  With- 
out him  the  proprietor  would  have  been  sadly  at  sea,  in 
his  full  knowledge  of  all  connected  with  his  department. 

What  was  very  remarkable  in  his  case  was  that,  in  his 
full  fidelity  to  his  master,  he  did  not  compromise  the 
respect  and  good  will  of  his  fellow  servants.  Among  his 
own  race  he  was  the  most  universally  popular  servant  on 
the  whole  estate,  and  had  there  been  set  up  here  a  little 
Dominion  of  Dahomey,  Uncle  Philip  would  have  been 
chosen  king  by  universal  acclaim.  One  can  quite  under- 
stand how  such  a  servant  should  have  been  very  much 
petted,  but  no  indulgence  seemed  to  spoil  him.  Do  you  see 
3'onder  house  standing  at  the  close  of  what  the  servants 
call  Broadway,  in  that  cluster  of  elm  and  maple  trees? 
That  is  Uncle  Philip's  house.  Let  us  enter  it.  In  the 
first  room  you  find  shelves  and  hooks  and  racks  around 
the  walls.  What  do  they  mean?  This  is  the  old  man's 
little  storeroom.  He  was  so  absorbed  in  his  devotion  to 
his  master's  interests,  so  fully  cut  off  thereby  from  the 
many  little  ways  of  making  money  for  himself  accorded 
the  other  servants,  that  he  was  allowed  the  privilege  of  his 
little  store,  where  he  kept  a  slender  stock  of  staple  goods 
— coffee,  tea,  sugar,  cheese,  cakes,  peanuts,  calico  and  home 
brewed  beer  (ginger  and  persimmon),  with  which  he  drove 
his  little  trades  with  his  fellow  servants ;  in  lieu  of  monev, 
often  taking  coon,  rabbit,  and  squirrel  skins  as  a  circulat- 
ing medium. 

One  would  have  been  surprised  to  know  how  much  money 
in  the  course  of  a  year  the  old  man  took  in.  The  writer 
when  a  boy  would  often  exceed  the  allowance  of  pocket 


64  The  Old  Plantation. 

money  from  his  mother.  On  the  Southern  plantation 
the  rule  was  that  the  sons  drew  their  pocket  change  from 
their  mother  until  they  were  sent  off  to  school,  when  the 
father  became  the  son's  banker.  Often  and  ever,  when 
out  of  money,  the  writer  would  borrow  from  Uncle  Philip, 
who  always  insisted  on  a  note  given  with  a  formal  seal, 
at  ninety  or  one  hundred  and  twenty  days  after  date,  lie- 
member,  the  old  man  did  not  know  the  boyish  hand- 
writing from  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  It  was  a  matter 
of  trust,  pure  and  simple.  Invariably,  a  few  days  before 
the  note  fell  due  the  old  man  would  approach  the  maker  of 
the  note,  with  the  most  respectful  suggestion: 

"Marse  Jeems,  you  dun  forget  dat  little  paper  of  yourn, 
isn't  you?" 

Unless  the  writer  wished  his  father  to  know  of  this 
transaction  he  had  to  stir  around,  get  up  the  money 
and  settle  with  his  devoted  old  creditor,  who  insisted 
on  payment  of  principal  and  interest,  but  who  would 
immediately  renew  the  loan  if  desired.  It  has  always 
been  a  matter  of  mystery  to  me  how  he  could  figure 
up  his  interest  so  accurately,  and  yet  I  never  knew 
him  to  make  a  mistake.  This  incident  is  here  given 
that  one  may  see  the  generous  confidence  and  loving 
relation  of  the  old  plantation  life  betweeen  master 
and  servant.  If  the  writer  meets  with  Mrs.  Stowe  in  the 
next  world  he  intends  to  acquaint  her  with  much  that  did 
not  appear  in  her  ignorant  compend  of  anger,  hatred  and 
malice — that  avant-coureur  of  the  John  Brown  raid  which 
was  the  skirmish  line  of  1861  and  ?65 — that  period  of 
national  dementia  which,  in  its  bitter  and  bloody  antag- 
onism to  the  law  and  order  both  of  Holy  Scripture  and 
the  Constitution,  argued  that  prolongation  of  the  godless 
French  revolution.  We  shall  now  go  on  to  the  lake  and 
acquaint  the  reader  with  the  turpentine  orchard  and  the 
distilleries  of  the  spirits  of  turpentine  and  resin  con- 
nected with  this  estate.  Catherine  Lake  was  the  largest 
of  a  chain  of  seven  or  eight  small  lakes  which 'we  find  iij 
the  midst  of  the  twenty-two  thousand  acres  of  splendid 
pine  trees  embracing  the  turpentine  orchards  of  this  estate, 
This  lake  was  about  a  half  mile  in  length  and  from  a  quar- 


The  Old  Plantation.  65 

ter  to  three-eighths  of  a  mile  in  breadth,  in  many  places 
quite  deep  and  in  some  places  covered  over  with  the  pads 
of  water  lilies,  in  season  very  beautiful  with  their  large 
white  flowers.  There  was  neither  visible  outlet  nor  inlet. 
It  must  have  derived  its  bountiful  and  uniform  supply 
of  crystal  water  from  hidden  springs.  It  contained  a  large 
supply  of  small  fish  of  the  perch  family,  with  a  great 
many  small  turtles,  or  as  the  negroes  called  them  "tar- 
rapins."  In  the  winter  season  large  droves  of  wild  duck 
came  from  the  rice  fields  and  elsewhere  to  roost  here. 
Come,  get  into  this  sail  boat,  and  from  yonder  little  island 
we  will  get  a  full  view  of  the  old  planter's  possessions 
on  the  south  bank  of  this  lake,  and  we  will  have  a  long, 
long  talk  about  this  branch  of  the  plantation  industries. 
Those  large  columns  of  black  smoke  you  see  issuing  from 
those  tall  chimneys  are  from  the  two  large  distilleries  you 
observe  there,  while  that  windmill  drives  the  force  pump 
which  furnishes  the  large  quantities  of  water  required  in 
the  distillation  of  some  hundreds  of  barrels  of  crude 
turpentine  consumed  daily.  The  process  of  distillation 
of  spirits  of  turpentine  for  the  world's  markets  is  so  like 
that  of  the  distillation  of  whiskey  and  brandy  that  we  do 
not  regard  it  necessary  to  go  into  details.  In  that  large 
cluster  of  houses  near  by  you  will  find  the  cooper  shops 
and  the  large  sheds  for  storing  the  barrel  timber.  Do 
you  hear  that  merry  ringing  out  of  voices,  in  tuneful  time 
to  the  coopers'  adzes  and  drivers,  as  they  force  the  hoops 
home  on  these  barrels,  used  in  the  shipment  of  the  white 
resin  to  New  York  and  Boston?  From  each  cooper  were 
required  forty-two  barrels  each  week,  and  so  easy  was 
the  task  and  so  skilled  were  the  best  of  them  that  they 
could  readily  enough  make  over  and  above  their  task  from 
eight  to  ten  barrels  per  week  extra.  Thus  Dave  and  Sam 
and  the  other  coopers  had  from  eighty  cents  to  a  dollar 
in  change  to  spend  at  Uncle  Philip's  store  or  to  do  what 
they  pleased  with  on  Saturday  afternoon.  Near  by  is 
the  glue  house,  where  the  casks  used  in  the  shipment  of 
the  spirits  of  turpentine  were  made  good  and  tight;  and 
there  is  the  large  and  airy  stabling  for  the  numerous  mules 
used  in  the  heavy  transportation  of  the  crude  turpentine 


66  The  Old  Plantation. 

to  the  distilleries,  as  well  as  in  hauling  the  manufactured 
article  to  the  landing  on  the  river  some  six  miles  away. 

That  comfortable  looking  home  out  there  to  the  left 
is  the  summer  house  of  the  old  planter,  far  away  (some 
three  miles)  from  the  malaria  that  may  be  lurking  around 
and  the  mosquitoes  buzzing  about  the  old  mansion  of  the 
plantation  proper,  which  we  have  already  visited  but  only 
partly  described. 

An  elaborate  description  of  the  coastal  forest  region  of 
the  South  will  not  be  here  attempted.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
in  the  large  area  of  the  western  part  of  the  State  of  North 
Carolina,  together  with  the  Piedmont  and  coastal  re- 
gions, are  embraced  more  than  three-fourths  of  the  acre- 
age of  the  whole  State.  The  revenue  in  timber,  lumber 
and  turpentine  products  has  been  variously  estimated  at 
from  thirty-five  to  forty  millions  each  year.  Into  these 
twenty  thousand  and  more  acres  connected  with  this  estate 
which  we  are  describing  let  us  at  once  enter  with  Uncle 
Philip,  and  we  will  listen  while  the  writer  is  describing 
the  mode  by  which  these  millions  on  millions  of  boxes  are 
inserted  into  these  large  yellow  pines,  out  of  which  the 
crude  turpentine  is  taken  to  go  into  these  distilleries 
for  the  world's  market.  The  planter's  New  York  market 
is  largely  regulated  by  the  relation  of  supply  and  demand 
in  the  Liverpool  and  other  European  markets. 

When  you  are  about  to  take  up  a  body  of  pine  forests 
and  reduce  it  to  the  culture  of  turpentine,  what  is  the 
first  thing  you  do  ? 

"Listen,  Uncle  Philip,  and  see  if  I  inform  the  reader 
correctly." 

"Yas,  suh,  dat  I  will,  Marse  Jeems." 

Well,  the  first  thing  you  do  is  to  burn  over  the  wood, 
so  as  to  throw  them  open  by  destroying  all  the  under- 
growth possible.  Then  the  box  cutters  come,  some  twen- 
ty-five or  thirty  in  number.  In  the  late  fall  and  all 
through  the  winter,  when  the  sap  is  flowing  more  slug- 
gishly, and  when  the  cutting  into  the  tree  seems  to 
injure  them  least,  they  are  very  busy.  These  splendid 
axemen  come  with  their  long,  narrow-bladed,  highly  tem- 
pered axes,  which  are  made  by  the  blacksmith,  Robert, 


The  Old  Plantation.  67 

on  the  plantation.  They  make  seven  or  eight  deep  inci- 
sions in  the  shape  of  a  crescent  or  new  moon,  about  five 
5  inches  above  the  ground,  obliquely  down  into  the  tree. 
Then  they  hollow  out  behind  these  incisions  towards  the 
heart  of  the  tree,  and  presently  you  will  see  how  skill- 
fully these  axemen  with  their  ringing  strokes  will  com- 
plete one  of  these  smoothly  finished  pockets  or  boxes  as 
they  are  called.  Then  they  corner  them,  as  they  call  it; 
that  is,  they  will  smoothly  notch  these  pockets  at  the  cor- 
ners, so  as  to  cause  the  flow  of  the  sap  from  the  edges 
towards  the  center.  How  many  of  these  will  they  insert 
into  each  tree  ?  Some  four  or  five.  This  depends  on  the 
size  of  the  tree.  You  must  be  careful  not  to  overbox  the 
tree — in  failing  to  leave  a  space  as  broad  or  broader  than 
a  man's  hand  of  untouched  bark  between  the  boxes — so 
that  the  sap  will  have  plenty  of  room  for  free  and  rapid 
flow.  What  is  the  estimated  capacity  of  the  box?  About 
a  quart  or  a  little  over  is  the  regulation  size.  How  many 
of  these  in  a  day's  task  for  each  man  A  good  axeman 
will  readily  cut  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  daily,  will 
have  finished  his  seven  hundred  and  fifty  by  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  on  Friday,  and  have  the  remaining  part 
of  the  week  for  himself.  Thus  your  thirty  hands  will 
have  finished  in  one  week  twenty-two  thousand,  five  hun- 
dred? Yes.  How  many  of  these  constitute  a  week's 
task  for  a  good  hand  ?  Twelve  thousand,  five  hundred  are 
accounted  a  fair  work  for  an  average  man  to  chip,  or  open 
the  pores  of  each  box,  once  each  week.  What  do  you 
mean  by  chipping?  Each  man  is  furnished  with  a  tool 
called  a  roundshave,  which  is  of  finely  tempered  steel, 
in  the  shape  of  a  small  knife,  round  and  bent  like  your 
forefingers  curved  from  the  second  joint,  about  an  inch 
and  a  half  in  width,  with  a  shank  about  seven  inches 
in  length  to  fit  in  a  wooden  handle.  With  this  sharp 
instrument  he  scores  horizontally  just  above  the  box  or 
pocket  and  thus  keeps  the  pores  open  and  the  sap  running 
freely  into  the  box.  If  the  winter  is  an  open  or  warm  one 
the  insertion  of  the  box  will  have  set  the  pine  to  bleeding 
so  freely  as  to  fill  the  box  by  the  tenth  of  April.  If  so, 
another  set  of  hands  come  with  their  dippers  and  buckets, 


68  The  Old  Plantation; 

dip  out  the  boxes  and  fill  their  buckets,  which  they  empty 
into  barrels  dropped  at  convenient  places  here  and  there 
'  by  negro  boys  with  their  mule  carts.  These  the  carters 
bunch  or  gather  together,  so  as  to  expedite  the  work  of  the 
wagons  in  hauling  them  to  the  distilleries,  after  they 
have  been  headed  up  by  a  cooper.  Thus  the  work  of  chip- 
ping goes  on  without  interruption  each  week,  from  about 
the  fifteenth  of  April  until  the  fifteenth  of  September — 
about  five  months — while  the  dippers  go  from  one  task 
or  allotment  of  boxes  to  another,  and  so  on  regularly 
through  the  working  season  of  five  months.  Each  one  of 
these  dippers  will  dip  out  and  fill  four  barrels  daily, 
or  twenty-four  in  a  week.  He  will  get  through  with  his 
task  on  Friday;  and  on  Saturday,  by  pushing  on  with  his 
work,  he  will  make  from  forty  to  sixty  cents  for  himself. 
You  will  observe  that  by  this  plan  of  operation  each  crop 
will  be  reached  by  the  dippers  some  four  times  each 
season,  giving  the  planter  from  his  orchard  as  many 
partial  harvests  each  year,  which  to  one  understanding 
the  judicious  use  of  his  money  is  a  marked  advantage  over 
the  cotton,  sugar,  tobacco  or  rice  crops.  When  the  nights 
begin  to  turn  cool  and  the  sap  ceases  to  flow  you  will  find 
that  on  the  face  of  the  box  (the  space  between  the  chipping 
or  the  opening  of  the  pores  and  the  pocket  or  box)  there 
will  be  a  deposit  of  turpentine  not  unlike  the  whitest  wax. 
This  is  the  turpentine  which  has  been  hardened  by  the 
air.  Into  a  box  on  four  short  legs  at  the  base  of  the 
tree  this  deposit  is  scraped  off  and  mixed  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  pocket,  and  finds  its  way  to  the  distilleries. 

This  closes  the  active  operations  of  the  year,  which  gen- 
erally come  about  the  first  of  November,  when  these  labor- 
ers can  be  taken  in  to  work  on  the  plantation,  opening 
ditches,  clearing  new  ground  or  put  to  cutting  other  boxes 
in  the  virgin  pines,  if  the  planter  wishes  to  extend  his 
crop  of  boxes  each  year.  The  average  chipper  from 
his  crop  in  five  months  will  produce  about  five  hundred 
barrels  of  about  thirty-two  gallons  each,  so  that  the  sixty 
servants  will  in  that  time  make  about  thirty  thousand 
barrels,  leaving  some  six  months  of  the  year  to  be  em- 
ployed, either  in  the  extension  of  the  turpentine  orchard 


The  Old  Plantation.  69 

0..  in  farm  work,  as  the  planter  may  elect.  By  joining 
these  two  industries,  the  orchards  and  the  plantation,  mak- 
ing the  latter  the  full  feeder  of  the  former,  yon  will 
readily  understand  how  it  is  that  the  plantation  can  be 
kept,  with  its  fine  fencing,  trim  hedgerows,  well  worked 
roads,  largely  like  a  garden.  How  long  will  the  average 
pine  tree  continue  to  yield  its  sap  as  above  described?  A 
crop  of  boxes  will  continue  profitable  for  ten  or  twelve 
years.  Is  the  tree  worthless  after  that  time?  No.  It 
yields  fine  wood,  excellent  lumber,  but  not  the  best — as 
largely  drained  of  its  essential  oil  in  the  turpentine  ex- 
tracted it  cannot  be  as  valuable  for  timber  purposes  as  the 
untapped  tree — yet  in  the  markets  of  this  country  and 
Europe  still  valuable ;  notably  so  when  not  exposed  to  the 
weather  but  used  for  inside  work,  as  in  framing,  flooring 
and  ceiling.  Then,  too,  many  of  these  pines,  after  they 
have  been  cultivated  for  years,  are  cut  out  and  from  them 
are  extracted  the  tar  and  pitch  of  the  markets  of  the 
world.  Do  you  regard  these  turpentine  orchards,  worked 
as  indicated  above,  as  profitable?  One  would  think  so 
if  one  would  look  at  the  account  of  the  planter  with  his 
commission  merchants  in  New  York.  You  will  see  that 
his  income  is  about  sixty  thousand  dollars  per  annum, 
without  reference  to  the  yearly  increased  value  of  stock, 
lands  and  servants,  which  are  by  no  means  inconsiderable 
items  or  features  of  this  steadily  increasing  wealth  of  the 
planter.  Are  the  servants  of  the  turpentine  orchards 
generally  healthy?  There  are  no  laborers  in  the  world 
more  so.  The  balsamic  properties,  which  the  pine  tree 
is  constantly  distilling  in  the  air,  seem  to  counteract  any 
poison  from  malaria.  What  water  do  they  drink?  Here 
and  there  are  small  but  clear  streams  of  running  water 
all  over  these  large  tracts  of  pine-covered  lands,  and  if 
the  servant  is  out  of  condition  you  will  see  him  take  the 
joint  of  the  ordinary  reed,  which  he  carries  in  his  pocket 
for  that  purpose,  kneel  down  at  the  base  of  a  pine  tree 
and  slake  his  thirst  from  the  rain  water  which  has  been 
caught  in  the  box  or  pocket,  impregnated  as  it  is  with 
the  turpentine.  This  reaches  and  regulates  his  liver  and 
.keeps  him  healthy. 


70  The  Old  Plantation. 

As  compared  with  the  other  staples  of  the  South,  what 
do  yon  regard  as  the  most  serious  drawback  or  disadvan- 
tage of  the  planter's  turpentine  interests?  The  laborers, 
and  notably  so  the  drippers,  are  employed  in  large,  wooded 
tracts  of  country,  out  of  range  of  anything  like  close 
oversight  and  must  be  stimulated  to  their  best  work, 
as  well  by  premiums  for  best  crops  as  by  so  regulating 
their  work  that  a  portion  of  each  week  is  their  own  to  do 
as  they  please  with.  It  is  very  different  on  the  cotton, 
sugar,  tobacco  and  rice  plantations.  The  great  disad- 
vantage in  the  crop,  however,  is  that  the  distilleries,  the 
spirits  of  turpentine,  the  resin,  and  in  fine  the  whole  plant 
and  its  yields  are  so  combustible  that  no  insurance  com- 
pany, domestic  or  foreign,  will  insure  the  property.  The 
only  protection  against  fire  that  can  be  had  is  to  police  the 
premises  as  thoroughly  as  possible.  How  is  this  done? 
By  placing  here  and  there  all  over  the  orchards  double 
log  cabins  for  the  families  of  some  twenty  or  more  white 
men.  These  people  occupy  these  cabins  free  of  rent,  with 
as  much  land  as  they  choose  to  cultivate,  which  rarely 
extends  beyond  a  garden  and  truck  patch,  the  men  fishing 
and  hunting  by  day  and  night,  while  the  women  hoe  the 
little  crops  and  raise  poultry,  the  children  gathering 
whortleberries  and  wild  currants.  These  men  are  re- 
quired to  do  three  things ;  first,  they  are  to  guard  the 
orchards  from  fire,  and  if  a  small  fire  occur,  as  it  often 
does  in  the  summer  time  by  lightning  striking  and  ignit- 
ing a  resinous  pine  tree,  they  and  their  families  must 
extinguish  it.  If  it  gets  beyond  their  control  they  are 
to  blow  horns,  summon  the  neighboring  tenants  and,  send- 
ing all  around  for  help,  fight  the  fire  fiend  until  it  is  put 
out;  secondly,  they  must  once  a  week  salt  and  care  for  the 
herd  of  cattle  and  drove  of  sheep  belonging  to  the  pro- 
prietor, carefully  penning  the  sheep  at  night  so  as  io 
protect  them  from  the  dogs,  wildcats  and  bears,  which  are 
found  in  those  large  tracts  of  unbroken  forests.  Thirdly, 
they  must  look  out  for  the  planter's  honey  bees,  and  when 
the  cold  weather  sets  in  they  must  take  the  honey  and 
carry  it  into  the  mansion  for  the  use  of  the  planter's 
family.    They  are  obliged,  under  contract,  to  turn  out 


The  Old  Plantation.  71 

when  summoned  to  work  the  roads  of  the  estate.  These 
tenants  find  a  ready  market  for  all  the  game,  poultry  and 
berries  they  will  carry  into  the  plantation.  Sometimes 
they  spend  a  whole  lifetime  in  this  dwarfed  but  important 
relation  to  the  proprietor.  They  form  a  distinct  element 
in  the  organism  of  this  large  landed  estate.  They  never 
mingle  with  the  more  thrifty  white  people,  while  the 
negroes  on  the  estate  look  down  upon  them,  calling  them, 
most  disdainfully,  "poor  white  trash."  Under  the  old 
regime  this  was  the  people  who  were  unhappily  affected  by 
the  plantation  system,  because  they  lived  in  the  presence 
of  and  close  contact  with  servile  labor  and  lived  and  died 
with  an  emphatic  protest  against  the  decree  which  forced 
them  to  work.  From  this  class  all  through  the  coastal  re- 
gion, during  the  late  Confederacy,  sprang  what  was  called 
the  "buffalo,"  who  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  federal  troops 
as  soon  as  any  lodgment  was  made.  They  have  not  yet 
died  out  from  among  us,  but  still  live,  utterly  contemned 
by  the  better  class  of  whites  and  distrusted  by  negroes. 

"Well,  Uncle  Philip,  how  does  this  account  agree  with 
your  view  of  it?" 

"It's  mi' ty  nigh  rite,  Marse  Jeems ;  youse  made  it  nifty 
plain  to  dis  old  darky." 

"Well,  what  does  that  heavy  smoke  mean  over  there,  old 
man  ?" 

"Why,  suh,  Harry,  the  distiller,  is  lettin'  off  his  heavy 
charge  of  rosun  and  dat  is  de  smoke  yo'  see,  suh.  Marse 
Jeems,  it's  about  twelve  o'clock,  suh,  and  I  must  be  gwin- 
ing."  ' 

So  to  the  mainland  we  go,  and  when  about  half  way, 
where  the  water  is  quite  deep,  and  we  see  the  tall  bodies 
of  the  large  pines  standing  all  around  the  rim  of  the 
lake,  not  unlike  the  palisades  on  the  Hudson  River,  Uncle 
Philip  takes  a  long  tin  bugle  and  giving  a  full  blast  upon 
it  wakes  up  the  echoes  far  and  near,  which  come  back  to 
us  in  wave  sounds  very  deep  and  at  times  very  sweet. 
Reaching  the  shore,  the  writer  goes  around  to  a  secluded 
cove  and,  in  the  crystal  waters  of  the  lake,  enjoys  a  de- 
lightful bath,  with  a  good,  long  swim,  after  an  old- 
fashioned  dive  from  the  spring  board  with  which  tlri§ 


72  The  Old  Plantation: 

deep  pool  is  furnished.  After  the  bath  he  is  joined  by 
the  old  planter  at  lunch,  where  some  of  the  lake  fish  are 
discussed,  together  with  a  cup  of  Maria's  best  coffee  and 
the  eggs,  fried  to  a  turn  on  both  sides,  followed  by  a  plate 
of  wild  currants  and  cream.  Just  such  a  lunch  for  all  the 
world  as  would  make  a  Southern  man*s  mouth  water, 
even  if  he  were  at  Harvey's  in  Washington  or  at  Del- 
monico's  in  New  York. 


The  Old  Plantation.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

At  lunch  it  is  agreed  upon  that  we  go  some  four  of  five 
miles  south  of  the  lake,  for  the  double  purpose  of  inspecting 
a  road  which  is  being  opened  in  that  part  of  the  orchard 
and  of  salting  the  sheep  and  cattle.  When  he  is  mounted 
you  will  be  struck  with  some  features  of  the  planter's 
outfit.  You  observe  what  a  fine  rider  he  is,  as  like  a  cen- 
taur he  sits  that  beautiful  horse  of  his,  gliding  along 
in  that  perfection  of  gaits,  the  fox  trot  of  the  Southern 
saddle  horse,  so  easy,  so  undulating  as  scarcely  to  move  the 
dear  old  gentleman  in  his  firm  seat.  What  is  that  tied 
so  securely  to  the  back  of  his  saddle  ?  That  is  a  wallet  of 
stout,  homespun  cloth,  in  one  section  of  which,  were  you 
to  inspect  it,  you  would  find  a  number  of  ready-made 
wooden  wedges  of  different  sizes,  with  which  to  wedge  up 
the  gates  of  the  plantation  if  one  of  them  should  be  found 
not  to  swing  easily  on  its  hinges,  while  in  another  depart- 
ment you  would  find  strips  of  leather  in  the  shape  of  both 
throat-latches  for  the  bridle  and  hamestrings  as  well, 
with  a  number  of  "nubbins"  or  small  ears  of  corn  for  any 
pig  or  heifer  which  he  may  meet  with  in  his  ride.  What 
is  that  buckled,  in  its  leather  case,  so  securely  to  the  bow 
of  his  saddle?  That  is  his  keen-edged  hatchet,  which, 
with  splendid  silver-mounted,  double-barrelled  shotgun, 
constitutes  his  outfit.  Do  you  observe  how  large  and  deep 
are  the  skirts  of  his  beautiful  Nashville  saddle?  Why 
are  they  so  large?  To  protect  his  limbs  from  the  sweat 
of  his  horse.  Do  you  observe  that  beautiful  broad- 
brimmed   Guayaquil  straw  hat  he  is  wearing  and  how. 


74  The  Old  Plantation.' 

nicely  gloved  he  is,  while  you  must  be  struck  with  the 
highly  polished  steel  spurs  he  is  wearing?  How  sharp 
the  rowels  are.  Those  spurs  are  polished  every  morning 
by  his  body  servant,  "Buck,"  as  regularly  as  are  his  boots. 
Thus  mounted  the  writer  thinks  that  not  even  General 
Joe  Johnston  or  Wade  Hampton  or  Ashby  himself  were 
finer  riders.  As  he  calls  out  to  Buck  to  follow  on  with  his 
sack,  partially  filled  with  salt,  tied-behind  him  on  his  mule, 
we  ride  along  together,  talking  of  crops,  the  weather  and 
politics  with  that  absence  of  reserve  and  that  peculiarly 
tender  abandon  characterizing  the  relation  of  the  old 
Southern  planter  and  his  children,  for  there  was  no  aloof- 
ness of  bearing  here.  Though  the  years  have  run  into 
decades  since  that  bright  portion  of  his  life,  and  the  blood 
runs  rather  sluggishly  in  his  old  veins,  yet,  with  blessed 
retrospect,  the  pulses  of  life  quicken  and  he  finds  him- 
self calling  out  to  himself, 

"Would  I  were  a  boy  again." 

What  large  spaces  are  those  on  the  right  and  left  of  the 
road  leading  away  to  the  south-west?  They  are  two  of 
the  small  prairies  or  meadows,  of  seventy-five  or  a  hun- 
dred acres  each,  with  which  these  turpentine  orchards 
abound,  in  many  cases  without  a  single  tree  of  any  size 
upon  them.  Their  conformation  is  that  of  a  large,  shal- 
low saucer,  thickly  set  with  a  variety  of  wild  grasses  and 
embellished  by  myriads  of  lovely  wild  flowers,  among  which 
are  the  scarlet  Indian  pink  and  the  dwarfed  honeysuckle, 
while  the  air  is  redolent  with  the  perfume  of  the  wild 
vanilla,  giving  out  its  odor,  as  its  leaves  are  bruised  by 
the  feet  of  the  cattle  and  the  sheep  grazing  out  there  as 
you  see.  How  fine  is  the  effect  of  these  beautiful  meadows, 
hedged  around  by  those  tall,  stately,  forest  sentinels,  those 
magnificent  yellow  pines  of  dear  old  Southland,  by  all  odds 
the  most  useful  of  all  the  trees  in  the  American  forests ! 
On  all  these  meadows,  many  in  number,  on  this  estate,  you 
might  readily  graze  two  or  three  thousand  cattle ;  thus  it  is, 
with  the  fine  winter  pasturage  of  the  salt  marshes,  there 
is  not  a  month  in  the  year  in  which  the  old  planter  could 
jiot  have  from  his  own  shambles  fine  beef  and  mutton, 


The  Old  Plantation.  75 

These  wild  grasses  heie  are  often  very  tall  and  luxuriant, 
coming  up  in  height  to  your  feet  in  the  stirrup,  as  ono 
rides  along  to  yonder  ridge  where  the  salt  is  given  the 
cattle  in  long  wooden  troughs,  around  which  in  droves 
they  have  already  gathered  m  eager  expectancy,  for  they 
have  already  sniffed  the  salt  in  Buck's  big  bag  behind  him 
on  the  mule,  as  salt  is  indeed  the  savor  of  life. 

We  had  already  reached  the  center  of  the  larger  meadow 
on  the  left  when  the  conversation  ceased,  as  is  often  the 
case  when  one  is  in  sweet  communion  with  nature,  as 
here  in  one  of  her  loveliest  moods — the  meadowlands 
crowned  with  their  rich  product  of  natural  grasses,  the 
honey  bee  busy  in  gathering  her  nectared  sweets  from 
the  myriads  of  wild  flowers  blooming  in  such  rich  pro- 
fusion all  around,  the  only  sound  heard  the  lowing  of  the 
kine  and  the  plaintive  bleating  of  the  sheep — in  Indian 
file  we  were  making  our  way  towards  the  salting  ground, 
with  the  old  planter  in  the  lead  and  Buck  bringing  up  the 
rear,  when,  as  sudden  as  a  bolt  from  heaven  and  as  quick 
as  thought,  there  rang  out  on  the  air,  "Bang !  bang  P 
What  does  it  mean?  We  had  come  upon  two  fine  deer. 
Approaching  them  to  the  leeward  they  could  not  smell  us, 
the  footfall  of  our  horses'  feet  being  muffled  by  the  lush 
grass  they  could  not  hear  us,  while  their  cover  was  so 
deep  they  could  not  see  us,  and  we  had  come  bluff  up 
on  two  old  bucks,  when,  with  his  fine  aim  and  long 
ranged  gun,  the  planter  had  covered  them  both  before  they 
could  get  out  of  range.  Startled  as  they  sprang  up,  they 
had  fled  in  opposite  directions  but  all  to  no  purpose,  for 
before  they  had  reached  the  cover  of  the  pine  forests  down 
they  both  went,  when  my  father  turned  and  called  out 
in  strong  tones, 

"Got  them  both,  son,  by  George!" 

And  so  he  had,  for  in  less  time  than  is  required  to  tell 
of  it  the  sharp  blade  of  the  pocket  knife  had  passed  over 
the  jugular  of  both,  and  Buck's  face  was  radiant  with  de- 
light as  he  called  out: 

"Shure  as  yo'  is  bo'n,  Marse  Jeems,  ole  marster  is 
de  bes'  shot  in  Norf  Ca'liny." 

The  cattle  were  soon  salted,  and  the  smaller  of  the  two 


76  The  Old  Plantation. 

bucks  was  secured  behind  the  saddle  of  the  planter  with- 
out any  difficulty.  When  it  came  to  tying  the  other 
buck  on  the  negro's  mule  we  had  no  easy  task,  for,  whether 
or  not  it  comes  from  close  association  with  each  other, 
both  negroes  and  mules  are  afraid  of  the  dead.  Finally 
we  succeeded  after  much  coaxing  and,  the  last  resort 
in  such  cases,  blindfolding  the  mule.  All  the  way  home 
Buck  was  kept  in  a  state  of  fear  lest  the  mule  should 
"roach"'  his  back,  which  is  the  asinine  mode  of  putting 
his  muscles  in  such  fearful  battery  as  would  have  landed 
with  fearful  force  Buck,  saddle,  deer  and  all  promis- 
cuously on  the  breast  of  mother  earth.  Thus  laden 
with  fine  venison  our  gait  was  indeed  a  slow  one.  How- 
ever, we  soon  struck  the  main  road  about  a  mile  from  the 
homestead,  where  we  overtook  a  long  line  of  wagons 
heavily  laden  with  lumber  from  the  planter's  saw  mill 
at  the  lake.  These  wagons  en  route  from  the  landing, 
where  they  had  carried  their  heavy  freightage  of  spirits 
of  turpentine  and  resin,  had  stopped  at  the  distilleries 
and  were  on  their  way  home  with  lumber  for  the  uses 
of  the  plantation.  Early  next  morning  Buck,  on  mule 
back,  was  dispatched  with  a  large  old-fashioned  basket 
(woven  on  the  plantation  of  the  pliant  splits  of  white 
oak)  in  which  choice  roasts  and  steaks  of  venison  were 
carried  to  the  planters'  wives  of  the  neighboring  estates, 
with  a  kind  note  from  him  whose  fine  marksmanship  we 
have  witnessed. 

These  interchanges  of  such  courtesies  were  quite  com- 
mon among  the  plantations  before  the  war.  Dwelling 
among  their  own  people,  remote  from  the  towns,  the  old 
planter  and  his  family  were  largely  dependent  for  so- 
ciety upon  their  neighbors;  and  in  those  blessed  arcadian 
days,  before  prurient  materialism  had  laid  such  baneful 
hold  upon  our  population,  social  life  at  the  South  had 
taken  on  such  fine  forms  as  to  make  it  the  admiration 
of  all  who  came  in  contact  with  it.  It  was  then  that 
citizenship  at  the  South  rose  to  its  high  water  mark, 
possessing  those  who  wore  it  with  such  social  charms  and 
buttressed  on  such  high  integrity,  long  before  the  dark 
days  of  "credit  mobilier,"  as  to  make  it  very  influential 


jThe  Old  Plantation.1  77 

all  over  the  land.  But  these  days  have  passed  away. 
"Times  change  and  we  change  with  them/'  said  the  old 
pagan.  The  era  of  cui  lono  philosophy,  with  its  cognate 
of  "Honesty  is  the  best  policy/'  is  upon  us  now,  wrapping 
around  our  lares  and  penates  its  certificates  of  stocks  in 
such  transforming  and  deforming  manner  and  results,  as 
well-nigh  to  hide  them  out  of  view.  It  was  during  these  bet- 
ter days  of  the  republic  that  from  the  South  were  furnished 
to  the  nation  such  statesmen  as  King  of  Alabama,  Badger 
of  North  Carolina,  Beeves  of  Virginia,  Keverdy  Johnson 
of  Maryland,  Crittenden  and  Breckenridge  of  Kentucky, 
and  a  host  of  others  so  noted  for  high  courage  and  deep 
insight  into  the  genius  of  republican  institution — allied 
with  such  fine  forms  of  statesmanship  and  such  incor- 
ruptible integrity — as  to  constitute  them  and  others  like 
them  the  very  guardians  of  the  country. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  hospitality  of  the  South.  Let 
us  close  this  chapter  by  an  incident,  which  will  serve  the 
purpose  of  its  illustration,  bringing  out  some  of  the  cus- 
toms of  the  planter's  family,  while  shedding  some  light 
upon  the  characteristics  of  the  servants  who  dwelt  at  that 
time  so  happily  in  their  freedom  from  care  and  responsi- 
bility, with  their  old  master,  under  the  vine  and  fig  tree 
of  his  ample  and  loving  provision.  Under  a  charter  from 
one  of  the  Charleses  there  came  from  old  England  before 
the  Eevolution  of  the  American  colonies  a  large  band 
of  Scotch  people,  who  settled  in  the  upper  Cape  Fear 
section  of  North  Carolina.  Their  descendants  are  still 
there  and  embrace  among  their  unnumbered  "Macs''  some 
of  the  very  best  citizens  of  the  old  State.  Of  course,  in 
coming  from  Scotland  they  brought  with  them  that  na- 
tional fondness  for  letters  and  those  peculiar  religious 
dogmas  which  constituted  them  old-fashioned  Presby- 
terians, pure  and  simple.  Holding  their  religious  faith 
with  the  tenacity  of  Moslems  they,  by  well  directed  mis- 
sionary work,  sought  to  introduce  it  into  other  parts  of 
the  State.  Informed  at  home  by  the  young  and  well 
educated  Scotchmen,  who  had  gone  down  as  teachers  in 
the  families  of  the  planters  in  the  tidewater  country,  both 
of  the  wealth  there  abounding  and  of  the  absence  of  any 


yS  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  all  allegiance  to  the  Westminister  catechism,  with 
their  characteristic  zeal  they  sent  their  missionaries  down 
there  to  lengthen  the  cords  and  strengthen  the  stakes  of 
Zion  in  this  neglected  part  of  the  State.  In  the  old  county 
of  Onslow,  in  which  the  scene  of  this  incident  is  laid,  there 
was  not  a  single  organized  congregation  of  Presbyterians. 
Of  course  a  missionary  was  sent  here,  a  noble  representa- 
tive of  his  high  and  holy  faith  he  was,  combining  great 
pastoral  activity  with  such  powers  as  a  preacher  and 
allied  with  such  purity  and  simplicity  of  life,  as  enabled 
him  in  his  marked  popularity  and  extended  usefulness  to 
preach  the  word  of  God  to  crowded  congregations.  He 
was  very  popular,  and  nowhere  more  so  than  at  the  home 
of  the  writer's  father,  where  he  was  always  a  most  wel- 
come guest.  On  one  of  his  many  visits  to  the  old  home, 
after  family  worship  one  night,  he  was  shown  to  his  cham- 
ber by  Handy,  the  dining  room  servant,  who,  with  a  pair 
of  slippers  under  his  arm  and  the  old-fashioned  candle- 
stick with  spermaceti  candle  in  it  in  the  other  hand, 
lighted  the  holy  man  of  God  up  to  the  prophet's  cham- 
ber. After  entering  the  room  Handy  waited  some  little 
time  for  the  divine  to  draw  off  his  boots,  that  he  might 
take  them  downstairs  and  polish  them  for  the  next  day's 
use.  There  stood  the  negro  waiting  for  the  boots.  The 
clergyman,  utterly  ignoring  the  presence  of  the  boy,  in  that 
absent  mindedness  often  found  in  those  whose  sweetest 
pleasure  is  in  close  communion  with  dead  men  in  their 
books,  proceeded  to  pour  out  a  little  water  in  a  goblet; 
then,  standing  before  the  mirror,  with  great  dexterity,  he 
unshipped  an  eye  and  placed  it  in  the  goblet.  This  un- 
familiar, uncanny  scene  shook  the  nerves  of  the  negro  very 
severely ;  yet,  thoroughly  trained  to  obedience,  he  held 
his  ground.  But  when,  standing  before  the  looking-glas~, 
the  Scotch  parson  proceeded  to  take  out  a  set  of  false  teeth, 
Handy  could  stand  the  performance  no  longer.  Dashing 
down  the  slippers,  and  waiting  no  longer  for  the  boots 
nor  for  anything  else,  he  rushed  down  the  stairway  and 
never  stopped  until  he  landed  in  the  kitchen,  where,  out 
of  breath  from  the  rapid  gait  whereby  he  emphasized  his 
fearful  fright,  he  called  out  to  the  old  cook  as  best  he 


The  Old  Plantation?  79 

could  with  his  short  breathing,  "A'nt  Patty,  dat,  dat, 
dat  dar  preecherman  upstairs  farely  takin'  hisself  all  to 
pieces."  Said  the  old  cook,  "You'd  bettah  go  bac?  and 
git  him  boots,  yuh  fool  nigger."  "No,  ma'm,  I  wouldn't 
go  up  dem  sta'rs  to-nite  fur  his  boots  full  ob  money." 
Nor  did  he  go  until  the  daylight  of  the  next  morning  gave 
him  the  full  assurance  that  there  were  no  ghosts  or  hob- 
goblins, in  the  form  of  a  preacherman,  to  do  him  harm. 

Ah,  these  blessed  old  plantation  servants,  with  all  their 
fine  forms  of  beautiful  devotion  to  duty,  how  very  super- 
stitious they  were;  and  yet  not  at  all  more  so  than  the 
corresponding  class  in  the  older  civilizations  of  Europe. 
After  all  is  not  human  happiness  hindered  rather  than 
promoted  by  that  excess  of  one-sided  education  which  in 
unfettering  the  intellect  so  enchains  the  heart  and  its 
sweet  affections  as  to  eliminate  from  the  problem  of 
human  life  those  factors  of  reverence  and  docility  which, 
in  the  blind  worship  of  cold  Egoism,  is  wrecking  the  faith 
of  the  world? 


,- 


go  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  X. 

So  much  is  there  to  be  said  of  the  old  plantation  life 
to  those  who  discover  any  interest  in  the  manners,  cus- 
toms and  other  formative  influences  of  the  ante-bellum 
Southland,  that  we  may  have  tarried  too  long  in  the  de- 
scription of  the  turpentine  orchards.  Yet  this  can  scarcely 
be  so  to  those  who  are  both  proud  of  and  interested  in 
their  ancestors.  French  novels  may  come  in  by  the  score 
(bringing  in  such  brain  products  as  those  of  Zola,  and 
others  cf  his  stamp),  and  by  their  prurient  realism  may 
impair  the  purity  of  our  lighter  literature.  Clubs  may 
be  organized  for  the  discussion  of  such  authors  as  Mrs. 
Humphrey  Ward  and  others  of  her  stamp,  but  the  healthy 
Anglo-Saxon  mind  is  so  strongly  attached  to  the  masters 
of  the  British  classics  that  we  may  rest  secure  in  the 
possession  of  the  writings  of  Thackeray,  Scott,  Bulwer  (in 
his  better  days  and  purer  works)  and  the  incomparable 
Dickens,  in  their  fine  influence  over  our  children.  In 
America  it  will  be  a  long,  long  time  before  our  own  Fen- 
imore  Cooper  ( delighting,  in  his  "Leather  Stocking  Tales," 
to  tell  us  of  the  Indian  summer,  that  honeymoon  of  the 
year,  in  which  one  loves  to  recall  the  names  of  those  who 
made  nature  a  great  white  throne  where  men  might  kneel 
or  dream  or  worship)  will  have  failed  to  influence  the  youth 
of  our  land.  And  this  is  so,  not  because  he  was  a  delineator 
of  nature,  so  much  as  because  he  keeps  us  in  loving  touch 
with  the  past  and  its  blessed  traditions  and  influences,  so 
potent  in  the  coinage  of  a  splendid  type  of  genuine  man- 
hood.    We  believe  that,  in  keeping  our  children  well  in- 


The  Old  Plantation/  81 

formed  of  their  ancestral  virtues  we  shall  furnish  them 
with  the  most  healthv  corrective  of,  much,  in  the  last 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century's  electric  social  condi- 
tion, which  to  the  mind  furnished  and  strengthened  by 
the  philosophy  of  history  must  present  itself  as  most 
enervating  and  harmful  in  many  ways.  Therefore  it  is 
that  this  book  is  written;  that  the  effort  is  made  to  pre- 
serve pure  and  inviolate  the  annals  of  the  Southern  peo- 
ple, at  such  a  time  as  they  were  fortunately  possessed  of 
a  record  of  their  own ;  when  in  their  own  pure  homogeneity 
they  challenged  the  admiration  of  all  who  knew  them  in 
their  sunlit  God-kept  homes.  We  have,  in  part,  de- 
scribed the  old  plantation  and  its  many  servants,  telling 
how  they  lived — their  homes,  their  rations  of  good,  healthy 
food  and  the  warm  clothing  they  wore — we  have  seen  in 
all  this  much  to  confirm  the  opinion  that  no  peasantry  in 
the  world  were  ever  more  comfortably  provided  for  than 
they  were  when  they  had  humane  masters.  Humane  the 
great  majority  of  the  old  plantation  masters  were,  not- 
withstanding the  sickly  creation  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  distem- 
pered fancies.  These  people  on  these  estates  were  the 
property  of  the  planter,  with  full  warranty  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture for  their  possession,  if  the  unanswered  letters  of  the 
late  Bishop  Hopkins  of  Vermont  to  the  late  Bishop  Potter 
of  Pennsylvania  prove  anything.  The  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States  so  adjudged,  until  the  Constitution 
was  overridden  in  the  triumph  of  sectionalism,  with  its 
irrepressible  conflict  of  tfchigher  law"  with  the  basic  prin- 
ciples of  the  Federal  Constitution.  Beside  all  this  (and 
no  man  has  ever  answered  the  argument  of  the  Bishop  of 
Vermont,  that  remarkable  prelate,  who  never  lived  a  day 
among  or  drew  a  dollar  from  the  Southern  people)  these 
planters  were  amenable  to  the  laws  of  self-interest  and 
common  sense,  which  alike  forbade  the  abuse  and  ulti- 
mate destruction  of  their  own  property.  Neither  Jay 
Gould  nor  Mr.  Bonner  thus  treated  their  fast  trotters.  On 
the  contrary  they  nourished  them  with  the  tenderness 
given  their  own  children. 

(  Something  must  now  be  said  of  the  hours  of  planta- 
tion work.    Uncle  Ben  brought  a  long  blast  on  his  horn 


82  The  Old  Plantation. 

from  the  window  of  his  own  room  after  the  day  had 
broken.  This  was  the  signal  for  the  three  men  servants 
to  come  down  from  their  quarters  and  feed  all  the  ani- 
mals, horses,  mules  and  oxen,  to  be  employed  that  day  on 
plantation  work.  After  which  these  same  men  went  to 
the  well  near  the  gin  house  and  filled  the  several  large 
casks  mounted  on  wheels  with  healthful  water,  so  that 
when  the  assembly  bell  rang  at  Uncle  Jim's  cabin  about 
sunrise  the  plowmen  might  take  this  potable  water  across 
the  creek  for  the  wants  of  the  day.  Meantime  all  had 
breakfasted.  At  sunrise  the  assembly  bell  rang  out  long 
and  loud;  then  the  servants,  under  the  direction  of  the 
foremen,  who  had  received  their  orders  the  night  before 
from  the  planter  in  his  office  at  the  mansion,  filed  out  in 
order  and  went  their  way  to  the  day's  work ;  the  forty  plow- 
men following  their  leader,  Uncle  Suwarro,  and  the  larger 
number  of  hoemen  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  were  led  by 
their  foreman,  Uncle  Jim.  "Gee  !  Whoa  !  Back  !"  What 
does  that  mean?  Uncle  Harry  and  the  other  ox  cart 
drivers  are  yoking  up  their  oxen,  and  presently  you  could 
see  the  five  or  six  ox  teams  filing  out  of  the  big  gate  as 
up  the  cedar  avenue  they  went.  Faithful  old  Harry  had 
his  orders  for  the  day's  work,  in  hauling  rails  for  a  line  of 
new  fence,  or  to  repair  an  old  line,  or  in  large  loads  of 
marl  or  other  plantation  work.  By  this  time  Uncle  Jack, 
with  five  other  drivers  of  the  six  mule  teams,  was  cracking 
his  long  wagon  whip  as  with  one  line  over  his  fine  leader 
he  drove  out  of  the  gate  en  route  to  the  lake  and  the  work 
in  the  orchards.  Cicero  and  Henry  were  busy  now  in 
feeding,  grooming  and  watering  the  various  pleasure 
horses,  knowing  which  were  to  be  in  use  this  morning, 
while  Aunt  Abby  and  Emeline  were  to  be  seen  making 
their  way  up  the  hill  with  buckets  of  foaming  milk  to  the 
dairy.  The  bellows  in  the  blacksmith  shop  began  to  puff 
and  blow  as  Robert  and  Washington  ranged  themselves 
for  the  day's  work,  and  the  hammers  and  the  saws  in 
the  carpenter  shop  told  that  George,  Virgil  and  Jim  were 
at  work.  Thus  was  it  that  by  the  time  the  breakfast  bell 
at  the  great  house  had  rung  this  hive  of  industry  was  buzz- 
ing, each  and  all   at   their   own   work.     No  unnecessary 


The  Old  Plantation.  83 

noise,  no  confusion,  but  all  in  the  quiet  order  with  which 
each  had  gone  to  his  own  work,  showing  what  the  discipline 
of  a  superior  mind  over  servants  could  and  did  accom- 
plish. 

After  breakfast,  if  you  would  like  to  do  so,  we  will 
ride  out  and  see  what  these  servants  are  all  about.  How 
shall  we  go?  Shall  we  ride  or  drive?  The  large  plan- 
tation is  so  laid  out  with  fine  wagon  roads  that  we  can  go 
in  the  light  carriage  through  all  the  fields.  Well,  then, 
we'll  drive.  So  after  breakfast  off  we  went,  with  Cicero 
driving  a  pair  of  light  horses  to  a  wagon  purchased  in 
Wilmington,  Delaware,  and  known  as  the  "jumpseat  sur- 
rey"— that  is,  a  vehicle  so  finished  that  you  could  unfold 
the  seats  and  carry  four  persons,  while  from  its  light 
structure  it  was  intended  ordinarily  for  two  people.  Those 
are  two  fine  horses,  and  admirably  matched  they  seem 
to  be,  but  of  small  size.  Tell  me  something  about  them. 
These  horses  are  a  cross  between  the  wild  ponies,  found  in 
large  numbers  on  the  long,  narrow  islands  flanking  the  coast 
of  North  Carolina,  and  that  large  fine  stallion,  "Crack- 
away,"  you  see  the  groom  leading  back  to  his  stable  after 
having  given  him  water.  This  cross  makes  a  very  service- 
able animal  for  light  use,  taking  their  high  mettle  from 
the  thoroughbred  sire  and  the  tough  endurance  from  the 
wild  dam.  You  see  they  do  not  lack  speed  (let  them  go, 
Cicero),  and  off  we  go  at  a  rapid  rate  up  the  broad,  smooth 
road  until  we  reach  the  barnyard  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  creek,  about  three-fourths  of  a  mile  away,  when  we 
get  out  of  the  carriage,  and  attention  is  drawn  to  the 
various  appointments  for  the  distinctive  breeding  of  the 
several  kinds  of  hogs.  We  never  saw  finer  specimens  of 
the  Berkshire,  with  his  small,  pointed  ears,  broad  shoulders, 
short,  thick-set  head,  small,  tapering  legs,  and  prevalent 
white  and  black  spots  about  the  size  of  the  palm  of  your 
hand.  This  fine  hog,  thoroughly  bred  and  carefully  fatted, 
accounts  for  the  superiority  of  the  planter's  fine  old 
hams.  Over  there  in  those  breeding  pens  you  observe 
the  old  planter  has  his  Essex,  Chester  whites  and  Jersey 
Reds,  but  none  so  fine  as  the  Berkshire;  while,  more  for 
the  sake  of  variety  than  for  intrinsic  value,  he  keeps  a 


84  The  Old  Plantation. 

few  of  the  little  Guineas,  which  to  the  hog  family  is 
largely  what  the  bantam  is  to  the  ordinary  breed  of  fowls, 
trim  and  trig,  but  never  large.  You  will  quite  under- 
stand the  size  and  fine  quality  of  those  fine  oxen  you  saw 
this  morning  if  you  will  go  with  me  over  to  those  stock 
lots  and  look  at  that  fine  Durham  bull.  Did  you  ever 
see  a  nobler  specimen?  He  was  shipped  from  the  valley 
of  the  Connecticut  Eiver  when  a  calf  and  is  now  fully 
grown,  about  seven  years  of  age.  In  that  other  lot  near 
by  is  another  fine  animal  of  the  Devon  or  Shorthorn 
breed.  He  was  presented  to  the  old  planter  when  a  calf 
by  his  very  dear  friend,  the  Honorable  William  S.  Ashe, 
M.C.,  and  sent  from  one  of  the  largest  stock  farms  in 
Maryland.  Thus  you  see  how  particular  and  fortunate 
in  the  selection  of  his  stock  the  proprietor  of  this  estate 
has  been.  But  the  morning  is  wearing  away  and  we  have 
only  time  just  now  to  take  a  look  at  those  brood  mares 
and  the  colts  by  their  sides  in  that  large  pasture  lot  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road.  Do  you  observe  how  flat  their 
legs  are,  what  small,  pointed  ears  they  have,  how  sharp 
in  their  withers,  how  short  and  close  their  coupling,  what 
large,  full  nostrils,  and  how  red  the  lining  is,  and,  with 
all  these  points  of  a  thoroughbred,  what  long  and  grace- 
ful necks  they  have,  with  their  thin  manes,  small  pastern 
joints  and  very  small  fetlocks?  Again,  you  see  that 
sorrel  is  the  prevailing  color,  and  that  while  evidently  they 
are  all  of  them  high  spirited,  yet  how  docile  they  are  and 
how  they  love  to  be  petted,  as  they  eat  these  lumps  of  sugar 
from  the  writer's  hand.  These  seven  colts  are  the  foals 
of  the  celebrated  Trustee,  the  sire  of  Fashion,  the  em- 
press of  the  American  turf.  They  are  the  pride  of  the 
planter's  heart,  among  all  his  possessions  of  blooded  ani- 
mals, and  justly  so,  for  they  look  already, 

"As  though  the  speed  of  thought  were  in  their  limbs." 

In  this  large  pasture  field,  extending  on  both  sides  of 
the  creek,  with  great  boulders  of  detached  limestone  rock, 
you  observe  how  rough  and  broken  the  land  is?  Why  is 
this?  Not  accidentally,  but  designedly;  because  the  pro- 
prietor was  taught  by  a  very  successful  stock  raiser  in 


The  Old  Plantation.  85 

Kentucky  always  to  select  rough,  hilly  ground  for  his 
mares  and  colts,  in  order  that  the  latter,  in  growing  up, 
may  have  the  finer  development  of  muscle.     This  is  so, 
doubtless,  on  the  same  principle,  that  the  Scotch  high- 
lander  is  far  better  developed  physically  in  his  rough  moun- 
tain home  than  is  the  Hollander  in  his  flat  country  along 
the  Zuyder  Zee.     Well,  here  we  are  at  the  carriage  again. 
Let  us  drive  on.     What  are  all  those  people  doing  over 
there  among  those  vines  ?     They  are  giving  the  large  crop 
of  sweet  potatoes  their  last  working,  before  they  are  laid 
by.     You  observe  they  are  hilling  them  up,  after  they  have 
cut  off  many  of  the  vines  to  the  length  of  eight  or  ten  feet. 
The  vines  thus  cut  off  they  will  place  in  those  open  furrows 
on  the  top  of  those  long  ridges  you  see  over  there,  and  by 
putting  a  hoeful  of  earth  eighteen  or  twenty  inches  apart 
these  vines  will  take  root  and  make  the  crop  of  seed  pota- 
toes for   another  year — "slips"   as   they   are   called,   not 
growing  much  larger,  if  any,  than  a  man's  thumb,  but 
plenty  large.     What  varieties  of  the  potato  are  planted 
here?     Generally  the  yam  for  the  table  and  the  Spanish 
for  stock  purposes,  as  the  former  abound  in  saccharine  mat- 
ter, while  the  latter  is  far  more  prolific  in  its  yield.    Why 
is  the  potato  planted  in  long,  narrow  strips,  not  wider 
than  seventy-five   or  an  hundred  yards?     In   order  the 
more  readily  to  fence  them  off  in  small  lots  when  feed- 
ing them  to  the  fattening  hogs  in  the  early  fall  of  the 
year.     You  observe  what  system,  what  method,  with  their 
rationale,  obtain  on  this  plantation  in  its  various  crops. 
You  see  we  have  at  length  reached  Uncle  Suwarro,  with  his 
large  force   of  plowmen.     Here  they  come  through   the 
beautiful  green    corn,    just   now  coming   into  what   they 
call  the  bush,  before  it  begins  to  shoot  and  tassel;  that 
is,  before  it  begins  to  show  the  outline  of  the  ear  begin- 
ning to  form  or  to  blossom  out  with  its  pollen,  with  which 
to  fructify  the  ear  of  corn.     Let  us  see  what  they  are  do- 
ing?    You  observe  here  in  the  upland,  in  rows  more  than 
a  half  mile  long,  in  some  of  the  fields  the  corn  crop  is 
planted  with  its  stalks  in  hills  four  and  a  half  feet  apart 
each  way.     The   old   foreman,   in   his   shirt   sleeves   and 
broad  brimmed  straw  hat,  woven  by  his  wife  or  daughter 


86  The  Old  Plantation. 

out  of  the  oat  straw  of  the  plantation,  is  abreast  of  nine- 
teen others,  throwing  the  earth  with  their  plows  well  up 
to  the  corn,  leaving  a  mellow  bed  into  which  the  vigorous 
plant  shoots  its  lateral  roots,  as  well  for  nourishment  as 
to  enable  the  stalks  to  withstand  the  autumnal  gales, 
which  are  sure  to  come  about  the  equinox  and  which 
would  otherwise  lay  the  crop  flat  on  the  ground,  thus 
causing  much  of  the  corn  to  be  lost.  Following  these 
plowmen,  what  are  those  twenty  half  grown  boys  and 
girls  doing?  The}^  are  planting  the  black-eyed  pea  crop, 
which  you  will  see  later  on,  is  a  very  important 
one.  Do  you  observe  that  large  gourd,  looking  like  a 
small  basket,  which  each  one  of  these  young  negroes 
is  carrying  on  his  left  side,  supported  by  a  leather  strap 
across  the  right  shoulder?  In  these  are  carried  the  seed 
peas,  and  as  they  pass  a  hill  of  corn  you  observe  that 
with  a  quick  and  a  regular  motion  of  the  right  hand  hold- 
ing a  charter  (made  out  of  a  bit  of  axmrd  neck  with  a 
short  handle)  they  drop  from  twelve  to  fourteen  of  these 
peas  in  the  furrow  just  opened  and  directly  opposite  the 
hill  of  corn.  The  twenty  plowmen  following  after,  split 
out  the  middles  of  these  rows,  covering  the  peas  and  still 
hilling  up  the  corn.  Now  when  this  field  of  corn  is  cross 
plowed  and  treated  in  exactly  the  same  way,  the  result 
will  be  that  the  hill  of  corn,  generally  of  two  stalks  will 
be  the  center  of  a  quadrangle,  with  a  hill  of  peas  at  each 
one  of  the  four  angles.  You  will  quite  understand  the 
proprietor  of  this  estate,  when,  in  speaking  of  the  value 
of  his  pea  crop,  he  says,  that  it  more  than  pays  all  of  its 
own  expense  and  that  of  making  the  large  corn  crops. 
To  what  use  is  the  crop  of  peas  put?  First,  when  the 
crop  is  ripe  they  are  gathered  in  large  hamper  baskets  and 
carefully  stored  away,  and  in  the  winter  and  early  spring 
they  are  fed  in  large  quantities  to  the  sheep  and  milch 
cows,  for  they  are  both  grain  and  forage.  Many  of  the 
finest  are  carefully  put  away  for  the  seed  of  the  ensuing 
year.  In  the  richest  portions  of  the  plantation  many  are 
cut  down  with  scythes  and  dried  and  stacked  for  the  oxen 
and  mules.  Thus  when  all  this  has  been  done  and  the 
corn  has  been  gathered  out  of  these  fields,  the  large  num- 


The  Old  Plantation.  '  Sj 

ber  of  hogs,  upon  which  the  planter  is  dependent  for 
the  meat  rations  of  his  people,  are  turned  in  to  glean  these 
fields  of  the  shattered  or  ungathered  corn  by  day  and 
are  turned  in  on  the  sweet  potatoes  by  night.  In  addition 
to  this,  this  practical  old  planter  plants  in  each  field  of 
com  some  five  or  six  acres  of  peanuts,  or  ground  peas  for 
his  hogs.  These  nuts  are  full  of  oil  and  they  serve  to 
put  the  oncoming  animals  of  the  planter's  shambles  in 
the  finest  possible  condition  for  the  table.  You  can  quite 
understand  the  value  of  the  pea  crop,  more  valuable  by 
far  than  either  the  crimson  or  white  clover,  with  just 
this  one  disadvantage,  that  it  is  an  annual  and  must  be 
regularly  renewed,  while  the  clover  is  a  perennial  plant. 
Well,  we  have  reached  the  point  at  the  nick  of  time.  It 
is  just  twelve  o'clock  and  in  a  minute  or  so,  as  soon  as 
he  reaches.the  end  of  his  row,  you  will  hear  the  long-drawn, 
mellow  notes  of  the  dinner  horn,  as  Uncle  Suwarro  blows 
it  long  and  loud,  calling  his  band  of  sixty  laborers,  with 
their  animals,  from  labor  to  refreshment.  My  sakes ! 
What  unearthly  racket  is  that  we  hear?  It  is  indeed  a 
hybrid  of  sound  between  a  trombone  and  a  fog  horn ! 
Whence  does  it  come?  It's  the  braying  of  forty  mules, 
as  they  signal  their  joy  on  hearing  the  well  known  call  to 
dinner.  No  more  work  for  them  now.  Not  another  row 
will  they  plow  until  they  have  been  taken  out  of  harness, 
taken  to  the  nearest  feeding  station  and  given  water  and 
feed.  Meantime  let  us  see  what  these  negroes,  these 
''slaves"  of  the  old  plantation,  are  to  have  from  the  baskets 
for  their  midday  meal.  The  nooning  hour  in  the  summer 
time  ordinarily  lasts  from  twelve  o'clock  to  two  p.m.,  so 
that  both  servants  and  animals  may  have  ample  time  for 
food  and  refreshment.  The  animals  have  all  been  fed, 
and  here  and  there,  under  the  grateful  shade  of  the  splen- 
did old  black  walnut  and  hickory  trees,  small  fires  have 
been  kindled.  Soon 'the  air  is  laden  with  the  appetizing 
odors  of  the  large  strips  or  slices  of  fat  mess  pork,  which 
to  the  average  negro  is  far  more  welcome  than  either  beef- 
steak or  mutton  chops.  This  cooking  process  of  theirs 
furnishes  in  their  frying  pan  a  plentiful  supply  of  savory 
gravy,  which  they  thin  down  with  water.     Into  this  they 


88  The  Old  Plantation? 

put  their  corn  meal,  which  they  stir  until  fully  cooked  and 
allowed  to  brown.  Sometimes  they  will  chop  up  the  young 
onions,  leaves,  bulb  and  all,  into  this  "cush,"  as  they  call 
it.  In  place  of  the  onions  they  sometimes  introduce  the 
watercress  from  the  bank  of  the  creek.  This,  with  their 
meat  and  bread  and  such  vegetables  as  their  gardens 
afford,  gives  them  an  abundant  and  nourishing  meal. 
After  this  they  sometimes  indulge  their  fondness  for  sweets 
from  the  black  bottle  of  molasses  or  sorghum,  an  abun- 
dance of  which  is  produced  on  the  plantation.  Then  to 
both  men  and  women  come  the  indispensable  pipe  and 
tobacco,  or  to  the  men  the  quid  or  "chaw"  of  this  wonder- 
ful weed,  all  home  grown  in  full  abundance.  After  this 
they  will  either  rest  under  the  trees  or  join  in  pitching 
quoits,  which  they  call  "quakes,"  or  in  playing  "five  corns." 
This  latter  game  with  them  takes  the  place  of  the  old 
Roman  game  of  dice.  They  take  five  grains  of  corn,  large 
and  plump,  hollow  out  the  heart  or  kernel,  and,  with 
\lieir  hands  for  a  dice  box,  seek  to  throw  all  five  of  the 
grains  of  corn  in  such  dexterous  way  as  to  bring  down  on 
the  ground  with  all  the  hearts  uppermost;  the  party  first 
scoring  twenty-five  points  wins  the  game,  as  they  throw 
alternately.  Sometimes  they  will  play  the  game  of  "mum- 
ble peg,"  or  they  will  engage  in  a  game  of  ball,  in  the 
throwing  or  batting  of  which  they  discover  as  much  dex- 
terity in  some  cases  as  can  be  found  on  the  modern  base- 
ball ground.  Sometimes  the  older  women  can  be  seen 
busy  with  their  plain  simple  sewing  or  knitting ;  while  the 
men  are  engaged  in  putting  a  bottom  in  a  chair,  employ- 
ing either  corn  shucks,  the  stems  of  the  wild  flag  or  splits 
of  white  oak.  Many  of  them  are  busy  in  making  baskets, 
some  of  large  size,  used  in  gathering  the  cotton  crop  and 
for  various  other  plantation  purposes,  and  others  smaller 
and  of  more  delicate  texture,  for  key  baskets  or  for  gath- 
ering up  the  eggs  from  the  poultry  yard.  In  all  of  these 
little  industries  they  may  not  show  the  skill  of  the  In- 
dians in  their  work  sold  to  tourists  at  Niagara  Falls, 
but  they  certainly  do  display  no  little  dexterity.  The  most 
industrious  among  them  send  their  wares  to  New  Berne 
or  Wilmington,   by  the  servants  who   drive   the  market 


/The  Old  Plantation:  89 

wagons,  and  thus  in  the  course  of  the  year  they  gather 
in  quite  a  nice  little  sum  of  money.  It  must  not  be 
forgotten,  in  estimating  the  slender  income  of  these  sim- 
ple-hearted;, unconventional  servants  of  the  old  planta- 
tion, that  they  pay  no  rent,  settle  no  doctor's  bills,  have 
naught  to  do  with  either  grocer  or  butcher,  and  are  free 
from  the  rapacity  of  the  modern  undertaker.  In  many 
respects  the  advantages  of  the  servants  on  this  plantation 
over  those  white  slaves  employed  in  the  factories  of  both 
Old  and  New  England  was  very  marked,  and  in  no  re- 
spect more  emphatically  so  than  in  the  perfect  exemption 
of  the  old  plantation  servant  from  the  carking  care  and 
killing  responsibility  of  the  white  laborers,  telling  so 
fearfully  in  their  heavy  bills  of  mortality  and  the  very 
slow  ratio  of  increase.  So  say  statistics.  At  two  o'clock 
the  old  foreman  calls  everybody  from  refreshment  to 
labor  and  off  they  go  to  their  afternoon  work,  until  such 
time  as  will  allow  them  to  get  to  the  quarter  before  the 
night  sets  in,  allowing  plenty  of  margin  for  the  careful 
currying  and  grooming  of  their  horses  and  mules.  With 
the  old  planter  it  was  a  faithfully  observed  plantation 
maxim  that  the  free  and  regular  use  of  the  currycomb  and 
brush  on  all  his  animals,  winter  and  summer,  was  more 
than  equal  to  a  fourth  meal  in  keeping  them  up  to  a  high 
standard  of  usefulness. 


90  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

The  regular  plowmen  did  not  feed  their  animals  either 
at  night  or  in  the  morning.  This  was  done  by  a  detail  of 
three  servants,  made  each  week  by  Uncle  Ben,  and  under 
his  watchful  eye  the  stock. were  all  well  cared  for.  The 
work  on  the  plantation  varied  with  the  season,  both  as 
to  its  character  and  activity.  While  the  crops  of  tobacco, 
rice,  sorghum,  cotton,  wheat,  oats,  rye  and  corn  were  to 
be  planted,  cultivated  or  harvested,  in  every  department  of 
the  plantation  work  there  was  marked  activity.  When  the 
harvests  were  over  there  was  a  decided  relaxation  of 
energy,  and  yet  the  more  sheltered  and  less  exacting  in- 
dustries of  the  winter  went  on  regularly  and  systematic- 
ally. As  has  already  been  stated,  there  was  no  work  for 
the  master  done  on  the  plantation  (except  in  harvest  sea- 
sons) after  twelve  o'clock  (noon)  on  Saturdays.  My  father 
was  fully  convinced  that  in  this  judicious  mode  of  en- 
couraging his  servants  in  this  half  holiday  each  week, 
in  all  departments  of  the  large  and  complicated  indus- 
tries of  the  plantation,  he  accomplished  far  more  in 
five  and  a  half  days  of  labor  than  he  could  have  done 
by  the  steady  grind,  grind  of  six  unbroken  days  of  toil. 
With  him  it  was  not  only  "that  a  merciful  man  is  merci- 
ful to  his  beast,"  but  that  a  wise  and  thrifty  master  was 
kind  to  and  considerate  of  his  servants.  To  put  it  on  the 
low  plane  of  economics,  leaving  humanity  and  philan- 
thropy out  of  view,  it  paid  well  to  feed  well,  to  house 
comfortably  and  to  work  judiciously  the  race  which  Anglo- 
Saxon  civilization  was  gradually  lifting  up   from  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  91 

paganism  in  which  English,  New  England  and  Spanish 
ship  owners  found  it  on  the  coast  of  Africa.  The  writer 
is  about  to  close  this  chapter  upon  the  various  employ- 
ments of  the  servants  on  the  plantation  and  would  gladly 
introduce  an  incident  of  his  own  life  connected  with  that 
of  dear  old  Uncle  Jim,  the  foreman,  as  we  have  seen,  of 
the  force  of  hoemen  on  the  estate. 

Long,  long  years  ago,  in  the  late  forties,  when  the  writer 
was  a  mere  slip  of  a  boy,  he  obtained  permission  from  his 
mother,  as  he  often  did,  to  go  fishing  with  Uncle  Jim, 
taking  with  him  his  boy,  Cain,  as  was  his  habit.  In  this 
portion  of  the  South  there  was  an  unwritten  law  by 
which  the  boy  child  born  on  the  plantation  nearest  the 
birthday  of  the  young  master  was  his,  and  as  the  two  came 
along  together  through  childhood,  boyhood,  and  all  along 
through  manhood,  they  were  closely  associated,  having 
taken  their  first  lessons  together  in  riding,  swimming, 
fishing,  boat  sailing,  and  in  the  various  employments  of 
outdoor  life.  Thus  they  were  inseparable,  while  there 
was  a  blending  of  influences  each  upon  the  other,  com- 
ing from  that  irresistible  law  of  assimilation  from  close 
association;  the  Caucasian,  from  the  very  law  of  nature 
because  the  stronger  of  the  two  civilizations,  exercising 
the  stronger  and  more  formative  influence  and  shaping 
and  moulding  the  weaker.  It  was  said  on  the  plantation 
that  Cain  walked  and  talked  like  "Marse  Jeems."  Of 
this  much  there  was  no  doubt,  on  Sundays  and  other 
holidays  the  young  African  dressed  like  the  young  master, 
for  had  they  not  the  same  tailor  ?  Yes,  except  that  Cain's 
use  of  the  clothing  was  second-hand,  and  yet  they  fitted 
him  so  nicely  when  he  was  fully  dressed  up  he  would  sing 
out  most  enjoyably,  with  his  fine,  rich  voice: 

"  When  I  go  out  to  lemonade  v 

I  dress  so  fine  and  gay 
I'm  '  'bleeged'  to  take  my  dog  along 
To  keep  the  gals  away." 

And  surely  at  such  times,  in  his  even-tenored,  unevent- 
ful life,  Cain  was  the  happier  of  the  two;  for  while  he, 
had  not  "a  million  a  minute  and  expenses  paid,"  he  had 


92  The  Old  Plantation. 

all  of  his  expenses  paid,  and  cared  nothing  because  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  misery  of  millionairism.  Vander- 
bilt  may  have  had  a  more  showy  and  expensive  body  ser- 
vant, but  never  one  more  faithful,  more  affectionate  and, 
in  simple  role  of  duty,  more  efficient  than  this  young 
African.  Well,  the  time  has  come  for  this  Saturday  after- 
noon fishing  excursion  and  off  we  go,  with  Uncle  Jim 
carrying  his  own  fishing  rod  and  Cain  taking  his  own  and 
that  of  the  young  master,  who  comes  along  with  his  light 
double-barreled  shotgun,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  any  squir- 
rel, mink  or  otter  which  may  be  found.  Cain  gives  a 
keen  whistle  for  "Nat,"  the  water  spaniel,  and  soon  we  are 
down  at  the  river  bank,  with  plenty  of  angle  or  fish 
worms  in  small  gourds  around  the  two  servants'  necks, 
well  stoppered  with  bits  of  corncob  in  lieu  of  corks.  Uncle 
Jim  said  that  the  moon  was  right  and  that  the  wind 
was  blowing  from  the  right  quarter  for  good  luck.  The 
old  fellow  cautions  us  to  be  very  quiet,  "as  the  fish  doan' 
want  no  progicin'  'bout  dem  when  dey  is  a-takin'  dar 
meals."  So  we  were  as  quiet  as  mice  and  the  hooks  were 
well  baited  with  angle  worms,  the  old  man  spitting  on 
his  bait  for  luck  before  he  noiselessly  dropped  his  hook 
in  the  water  at  the  roots  of  a  large  cypress  tree,  among 
some  chunks  of  wood  held  there  by  the  eddy  in  the  bend 
of  the  river.  Well,  we  had  not  fished  long  before  a  pecu- 
liar grunt  of  satisfaction  was  heard  and  the  whirring  noise 
of  a  fishing  line  in  the  water,  with  the  cork  out  of  sight, 
told  its  tale  of  fine  game  fish  at  hand.  It  was  a  scene 
for  a  painter,  that  of  Uncle  Jim  as,  with  every  feature  of 
his  fine  old  ebon  face  keenly  alert,  he  saw  his  tackle, 
rod  and  line,  all  standing  the  strain  given  them  by  a 
three-pound  beauty  of  a  fresh  water  trout.  No  amateur 
on  Lake  George,  in  New  York  State,  nor  even  that  ex- 
President  of  the  United  States,  Cleveland,  so  far  famed 
or  rather  notorious,  for  antagonizing  the  simplicity  and 
honesty  of  the  band  of  Galilean  fishermen,  ever  landed 
his  game  with  more  ease,  grace  or  joy  than  did  this  sim- 
ple-hearted, born  sportsman. 

"Marse  Jeems,  wa'n't   dat   splendid?     Be   mi'ty  still. 
His  mate  is  dun  gone  in  dar,  and  Fse  bound  to  ketch  him. 


The  Old  Plantation."  93 

Cain,  yuh  fool  nigger,  yuh,  why  doan'  yuh  keep  less 
noise  ?" 

Quiet  was  restored  and  the  fishing  resumed.  After  a 
few  moments  the  writer's  cork  was  carried  with  great  ra- 
pidity out  of  sight  and  he  was  drawing  away  on  his  rod 
with  no  little  energy,  while  his  line  was  cutting  the  water 
with  a  swishing  sound,  when  the  old  fisherman  called 
out: 

"Gib  'im  line,  Marse  Jeems,  gib  ?im  line;  doan'  pull 
'im  so  hard,  suh.  You'll  broke  your  line,  shuah  as  yuh 
is  bo'n." 

The  writer  obeyed  the  instructions  of  the  old  fisher- 
man, who,  to  his  great  relief,  gently  took  the  rod  out  of  his 
hand  and  presently  landed  a  very  large  eel.  Whereupon 
he  called  out: 

"Kun  here,  Cain;  run  here,  Cain;  run  here  quick; 
fetch  a  stick  and  hit  'im  ha'd  as  eber  yuh  can ;  not  on  de 
haid,  dat  ain't  any  way  to  kill  'im.  Hit  'im  on  de  tail, 
hit  'im  on  de  tail,  you  fool  nigger  yuh,  as  ha'd  as  yuh 
kin." 

After  repeated  blows  on  the  eel's  tail,  which  I  shall 
always  think  was  his  head,  Cain  replied: 

"He  dun  ded  now,  Uncle  Jim,"  whereupon  the  old  man 
took  out  his  pocketknife  and  soon  cut  out  the  hook  which 
the  eel  had  voraciously  swallowed  with  the  bait. 

Very  soon  thereafter  the  faithful  old  darky  pulled  up 
his  line  and  moved  off  to  other  fishing  grounds,  saying 
half  aloud  and  to  himself: 

"'Tain't  no  use  a-fishin'  heah  no  mo',  Marse  Jeems. 
Luck  is  all  gone.  Let's  move  down  de  ribber,  for  when 
yuh  ketch  one  ob  dese  damn  eels,  Marse  Jeems,  he  bustes 
up  yer  luck." 

We  went  on  down  the  river  to  other  fishing  grounds, 
and  as  we  were  moving  along  old  Jim's  conscience  be- 
gan to  upbraid  him  for  swearing  in  my  presence,  when 
in  serio-comic  tone  of  voice  he  inquired  if  I  thought 
"cussin'  dat  eel  was  de  same  as  sw'arin'." 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  next  place  where  we  were 
to  try  our  luck  the  old  man's  mind  was  fully  at  rest  on 
the  point  he  had  raised  and  we  betook  ourselves  to  our 


94  The  Old  Plantation. 

sport  with  such  success  that  long  before  the  sun  had  set 
we  had  a  very  fine  string  of  fish,  the  old  man  catching  by 
far  the  greater  quantity,  while  Cain  and  I  helped  to 
swell  the  number  of  small  fry.  About  this  time  we  heard 
the  ringing  report  of  a  rifle  and  soon  Uncle  Amos,  the  old 
sportsman,  came  in  sight  with  quite  a  large  number  of 
squirrels  and  a  brace  or  two  of  summer  ducks,  his  con- 
tribution to  the  planter's  table.  It  was  not  long  after  this, 
as  we  were  making  our  way  back  home  and  had  reached 
the  gate  of  the  back  yard,  when  Uncle  Jim  asked  me  to 
get  my  mother's  permission  to  let  me  come  around  next 
morning  and  see  just  how  nice  the  fish  were  when  Aunt 
Patty  cooked  them  in  her  way.  My  mother  consented, 
so,  as  I  had  done  often  before,  next  morning  about  eight 
o'clock  I  made  my  way  to  the  old  man's  cabin,  and  such 
a  breakfast  as  I  did  eat.  His  good  old  wife  had  gotten 
down  her  best  "chaney,"  white  with  blue  rimming,  while 
the  cloth  on  the  table  was  as  white  as  snow,  and  the  floor 
spotlessly  neat  with  its  heavy  sprinkling  of  white  sand. 

"Breakfas'  is  ready,  Marse  Jeems;  set  up,  suh,  and 
jus'  he'p  yo'se'f." 

And  this  I  did  most  certainly — to  fish  that  were  cooked 
to  a  turn,  gashed  and  well  sprinkled  with  corn  meal  and 
fried  in  the  gravy  of  the  mess  pork,  while  the  eggs  were 
brown  on  both  sides  and  such  corn  bread  as  vou  never 
see  in  these  days,  with  excellent  coffee,  as  clear  as  amber, 
settled  with  the  shells  of  the  eggs.  When  ample  justice 
had  been  done  this  excellent  meal  I  arose  to  go,  for  I 
knew  that  neither  of  these  faithful  souls  would  touch  a 
morsel  as  long  as  I  was  in  the  house.  Just  as  I  was 
about  to  say  "Good  morning"  to  them  the  old  man  said: 

"Marse  Jeems,  is  yo'  in  mi'ty  big  hurry  dis  mornin'?" 

I  told  him  no. 

"Jus'  wait  a  minit,  pleas',  suh." 

Whereupon  the  old  man  went  into  the  bedroom  and,  un- 
locking his  wooden  "chist,"  which  served  the  purpose  of 
a  trunk,  he  took  out  something  which  he  brought  into  the 
front  room.  I  saw  it  was  a  small  gourd  and  nearly 
filled  with  salt.  He  turned  to  me  and,  in  a  very  solemn 
voice  said: 


The  Old  Plantation?  95 


"Marse  Jeems,  dis  ole  nigger  is  gittin'  pow'rfu'  ole 
an'  I  jes'  want  to  ax  one  little  faber  ob  yuh." 

"Very  well,  Uncle  Jim,  what  is  it?  I'll  do  it  if  I 
can/'  I  said. 

This  seemed  to  give  him  no  little  relief.  With  strength- 
ened voice  he  said: 

"In  dis  heah  gode,  Marse  Jeems,  is  dis  heah  piece  of  my 
year,  dat  yoJ  doan'  see  up  heah/''  pointing  to  the  miss- 
ing part  of  his  right  ear.  "Yon  see,  suh,  some  time  back 
I  got  in  a  fite  wid  dat  nigger,  Frank  Henderson,  and  he 
dun  bit  off  dis  heah  year  yuh  see  in  dis  heah  gode  ob 
salt.  Now,  suh,  Marse  Jeems,  if  yuh  is  de  longest  liber, 
and  I  jes'  nose  you  gwine  to  be,  I  jes'  want  you,  please, 
to  promis'  me  dat  yo'  will  see  dis  heah  year  put  in  de 
coffin  'long  wid  me  when  I  am  ded.  Tvase,  suh,  'fore 
Gawd,  I  do'sn't  want  to  be  walkin7  de  goldin  streets  ob 
Heben  wid  one  of  my  years  dun'  bit  off." 

Here  the  old  man  broke  down  and  could  go  no  further, 
terribly  distressed  at  the  idea  of  being  disfigured  with  one 
ear  gone  (or  the  better  part  of  it)  forever  in  Heaven. 
As  I  withdrew  I  promised  him  I  would  do  as  he  requested. 
Alas,  alas,  the  golden  ties  which  bound  us  together  so 
closely  and  so  tenderly  were  rudely  broken  by  the  stern 
arbitrament  of  war.  I  greatly  fear  the  dear  old  man  was 
put  away  in  his  coffin  without  the  comfort  of  carrying 
with  him  both  of  his  ears  to  the  general  resurrection. 
Thus  you  see  how  carefully  educated  the  old  man  had  been 
by  his  old  mistress  in  the  doctrine  of  a  bodily  resur- 
rection. 

- 


-'■• 


96  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Some  years  had  elapsed  since  the  incidents  of  the  last 
chapter.  Over  and  often  had  the  present  writer  enjoyed 
the  companionship  of  Uncle  Jim  and  Uncle  Amos  in  their 
forays  after  fish  and  squirrels,  taking  his  lessons  in  the 
various  forms  of  woodcraft  from  these  faithful  ones,  so 
willing,  so  capable  of  imparting  them.  He  had  also  been 
carefully  taught  by  Cicero,  the  coachman,  how  to  hold  the 
reins  in  driving,  in  such  manner  as,  by  the  simple  turn 
of  the  wrist  of  the  left  hand,  the  spirited  team  of  ponies 
could  be  safely  and  (as  the  writer  began  to  flatter  him- 
self) gracefully  driven,  while  the  right  hand  was  free 
to  hold  the  whip,  with  its  bow  of  pink  ribbon  tied  about 
half  way  on  the  staff.  To  the  two  sons  of  the  planter 
the  faithful  teacher  and  companion,  the  cultured,  scholar- 
ly young  Scotchman,  the  A.M.  of  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  Scotland,  whose  acquaintance  we  have  already 
made,  had  given  such  faithful  instruction  at  home  as, 
with  their  rapid  growth,  made  it  necessary  that  they 
should  be  sent  away  to  school.  Pending  the  years  of 
faithful  scholastic  guardianship  we  had  come  to  love 
our  master  of  the  schoolroom,  who  devoted  himself  to 
us  in  many  ways.  In  many  respects  he  was  among  the 
most  winsome,  lovable  persons  whom  the  writer  has  ever 
met.  With  a  face  of  fine  intelligence,  a  voice  naturally 
sweet,  his  vowel  sounds  in  conversation  or  reading  were 
singularly  effective,  and  at  times  surcharged  with  such 
telling  pathos  as,  for  example,  in  reading  aloud  the 
"Heart   of   Midlothian,"   or   some   other   of   the   blessed 


The  Old  Plantation.  97 

products  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  during  a  winter's  evening 
around  the  blazing  hearthstone  of  our  happy  home,  would 
wet  our  young  eyes  with  tears  in  loving  sympathy  with 
the  annals  of  dear  old  Scotia.  The  name  of  this  intel- 
lectual, pure  minded,  warm  hearted  young  Scotchman 
was  the  same  as  that  by  him  borne  in  the  after  years  of 
his  high  distinction  and  marked  pre-eminence  among  the 
divines  of  the  South — Rev.  James  Melsev  Sprunt,  D.D.  /H&Wx 
He  has  been  gathered  unto  his  fathers,  but  before  he 
went  away  from  among  us,  by  the  purity  of  his  life, 
his  ripe  and  full  scholarship — but  above  all  and  in  all,  hj 
his  loyalty  to  God — he  had  so  fully  impressed  his  person- 
ality upon  his  pupils,  such  as  the  present  Clerk  of  the 
North  Carolina  Supreme  Court,  Col.  Thomas  S.  Kenan, 
and  the  Eev.  J.  D.  Hufham,  D.D.,  pastor,  pastorum,  in 
the  Baptist  church,  and  many  others,  as  has  enabled  them 
to  honor  God  in  serving  their  fellow  men  right  royally. 
We  shall  never  hear  his  rich,  rolling  Scotch  voice  again, 
in  this  life,  as  with  rhythmic  melody  he  read  to  the  con- 
gregation "Guide  Me,  Oh,  Thou  Great  Jehovah/'  but 
we  hope  to  hear  it  again,  with  all  his  old  pupils  gathered 
around,  in  that  blessed  "house  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  Heavens."  This  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  one  so  worthy  has  been  paid,  not  only  because  it  is 
eminently  due  him,  but  to  show  also  how  careful  the  old 
planters  of  the  South  were  in  the  selection  of  the  teach- 
ers of  their  children.  The  elder  brother  of  the  writer 
went  from  his  home  to  Princeton  College  in  company 
with  quite  a  number  of  young  men  from  the  neighbor- 
ing town  of  New  Berne.  This  town  was  so  named  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century  by  its  founder, 
Christopher  Baron  de  Graffenreid,  in  memory  of  his  former 
home,  Berne,  in  Switzerland.  The  writer  went  to  the 
famous  preparatory  school  in  Orange  County,  North  Caro- 
lina, kept  by  Mr.  William  I.  Bingham,  and  since  kept 
up  by  his  descendants,  on  a  high  plane  of  great  usefulness 
in  developing  the  scholarship  of  the  South.  We  were 
both  at  home  now,  accompanied  by  several  of  our  class- 
mates, who  were  spending  the  vacation  with  us.  The  old 
home  was  full  of  young  company,  as  our  sisters  had 


98  The  Old  Plantation. 

brought  home  with  them  some  of  their  fair  young  school- 
mates from  St.  Mary's  School  for  Young  Ladies,  Kaleigh, 
North  Carolina.  This  remarkable  institution  was  then, 
as  now,  perhaps  the  most  popular  school  in  the  South. 
As  well  to  welcome  as  to  gladden  our  guests  from  a  dis- 
tance some  of  our  special  friends,  boys  and  girls,  had  come 
out  from  Wilmington  and  New  Berne,  as  they  often  did 
when  the  country  was  particularly  inviting  in  its  leafy 
and  flowery  pride;  or  in  winter  time,  when  the  wild 
turkeys  were  ripe  and  the  oysters  were  fat.  One  can  quite 
understand  to  what  height  of  real  pleasure  and  loving 
forms  of  genuine  enjoyment  this  carnival  of  old-fashioned 
fun  and  frolic  should  have  risen  in  the  old  home  in 
those  blessed  eld  days,  before  the  flood  of  1861  and  1865, 
under  those  conditions.  It  is  true  we  had  no  bicycling 
parties  then.  What  need,  pray,  had  we  for  them,  when 
the  young  people  of  that  day  had  still  their  ancestral 
fondness  for  horseback  riding — when  the  young  ladies 
had  not  broken  down  and  destroyed  their  gracefulness 
of  carriage,  but  walked  along  corridor  and  through  broad 
hall  in  all  the  mazes  of  the  quadrille,  Lancers  and  Scotch 
and  Virginia  reel  with  their  peculiar  grace  of  body,  con- 
stituting them  indeed  the  embodied  poetry  of  motion? 
It  would  be  very  hard  to  say  what  sort  of  parties  were 
not  enjoyed  by  this  half  score  and  more  of  young  people 
then  gathered  at  the  old  home.  Look  out  from  the  front 
piazza  to  the  left  at  the  horse  block.  What  young  couple 
is  that  about  to  mount  those  two  beautiful  horses  for  the 
ride  out  to  the  sulphur  springs  three  miles  away?  Wait 
until  the  family  carriage  and  the  lighter  ones  have  been 
packed  full  of  young  people  for  the  same  delightful  des- 
tination. 

"Come,  Buck,  hurry  up  and  get  off  as  soon  as  you 
can,  with  your  big  hamper  basket  of  lunch;  and  fill  your 
wagon  full  of  those  largest  watermelons  and  canteloupes 
down  there  in  the  spring  house." 

"Yas,  suh,  Marse  John ;  dat  I  will." 

Well,  all  things  are  ready  and  off  we  go,  as  merry  a 
party  as  ever  kept  time  to  music  or  read  their  destinies 
in  each  other's  soft  eyes;  making  the  air  vocal  with  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  99 

strains  of  fine  melody,  as  the  words  of  "Annie  Laurie" 
went  forth  from  the  young  people  all  along  the  line  of 
mounted  couples  and  from  those  in  the  carriages,  which 
had  joined  the  party  at  the  main  entrance — all  en  route 
to  the  sulphur  springs.  These  six  or  eight  carriages 
full  of  bright,  sunny  faces  untouched  by  cares  or  tears, 
as  yet,  with  that  peculiar,  chaste  toilet  of  the  Southern 
girl,  with  their  broad  sunbonnets  shading  a  type  of 
beauty  (in  many  cases)  so  marked  as  to  have  touched  the 
heart  of  sternest  anchorite.  Six  or  eight  couples  on  horse- 
back were  keeping  the  regulation  distance  from  each 
other,  so  that  no  one  should  suffer  from  dust  or  shadow 
of  molestation  in  any  form;  while  in  the  rear  came  the 
two  or  more  wagons  laden  with  dinner  enough  for  a 
company  of  infantry,  as  well  as  melons,  peaches,  pears 
and  baskets  of  Scuppernong  grapes.  Even  now  at  the 
close  of  the  nineteenth  century,  with  all  its  multiplied 
cares  and  vexations  of  electric  life,  what  an  inspiration 
there  is  in  youth.  But  to  have  been  young  in  the  dear 
old  Southland  in  the  fifties — no  one  but  he  who  can 
speak  of  such  joys  as  a  blessed  participant  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  speak  of  them  except  in  the  reverent  language 
of  "Our  fathers  have  declared  it  unto  us  what  noble 
works  thou  didst  in  their  days  and  in  the  old  time  be- 
fore them."  A  quick  drive  of  three  miles  brings  us  to 
the  spring,  though  we  stop  a  few  minutes  to  see  if  EH 
and  Sam  with  their  fiddles  (colored  people  did  not  play 
the  violin  in  those  days,  they  played  the  fiddle),  Virgil 
with  his  flute,  Frank  with  his  banjo,  Caswell  with  his 
triangle  and  Peter  with  his  castanets  had  gone  on.  We 
were  not  detained  long  at  the  lake,  for  we  found  adat 
Marse  John  and  GVge  had  rid  on  ahed."  Eeaching 
the  rendezvous,  at  the  foot  of  quite  a  declivity  for  this 
flat  country,  we  find  in  this  spring  one  of  the  very  strong- 
est fountains  of  medicinal  water  in  this  state.  It  breaks 
out  from  the  side  of  a  hill,  in  a  volume  of  crystal  water, 
about  ten  feet  deep  and  as  many  in  width,  forming  a  deep 
basin,  in  which  might  float  with  perfect  ease  two  or  three 
pilot  boats  such  as  they  employ  in  going  to  sea  across 
the  bar  at  Beaufort  Harbor.     Ah,  dear  old  spring,  what 


too  The  Old  Plantation. 

blessed  memory,  what  Heaven  recorded  association,  what 
fine  forms  of  sweet  hospitality  cling  to  thy  name !  On 
the  east  bank  of  the  purling  little  stream,  which  flows  away 
from  this  bay  of  water,  is  a  space  cleared  of  all  under- 
growth, around  the  semi-circular  rim  of  which  arc  lined 
the  fifteen  or  twenty  carriages  and  a  number  of  Con- 
cord wagons.  In  the  center  of  this  space  there  has  been 
erected  a  platform  about  twenty-five  feet  square,  while 
at  one  end  is  a  stand  with  seats  for  the  "musicianers," 
as  Buck  insists  on  calling  them.  Here  and  there,  scat- 
tered about  on  the  ground,  with  a  thin  layer  of  pine  straw 
underneath,  are  buffalo  robes,  skins  of  wild  animals, 
rugs  and  afghans,  with  such  an  array  of  cushions  taken 
from  the  carriages  as  to  suggest  an  Oriental  siesta.  The 
maid  servants,  who  have  come  out  in  the  lunch  wagons, 
are  very  busy,  rolling  lemons  on  the  hard  seats  of  the 
wagons  stripped  of  their  cushions.  Out  on  the  edge  of 
the  woods  where  the  horses  have  been  hitched  to  vonnff 
trees,  but  at  a  safe  distance,  have  been  kindled  two  or 
three  fires,  on  which  are  placed  the  boilers  brought  in 
thoughtful  reference  to  that  delightful  beverage,  coffee, 
which  the  Southern  cook  brews  in  its  highest  perfection. 
Up  the  ravine  some  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  the  large 
party  of  young  people  have  gone  on  one  of  those  sug- 
gestive, rambling,  philandering  expeditions,  to  look  for 
the  old  empty  basin,  from  which  one  night,  this  fine  spring 
near  is  said  to  have  disappeared  and  broken  out  where 
in  all  of  its  limpid  purity  it  is  still  flowing  on.  There 
is  a  legend  about  this  old  spring — that  it  belonged  to  a 
close  fisted  old  man,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  annoved 
by  the  many  visitors  who  came  for  miles  around  to  en- 
joy the  water.  The  old  curmudgeon  boarded  it  up  tight 
and  fast  with  a  close  fence  ten  feet  in  height.  One  night 
the  old  man  went  to  sleep  the  possessor  of  this  spring, 
thus  secured  to  him  without  annoyance.  JSText  morning 
he  awoke,  but  his  spring  had  gone  from  him  and  his 
meanness  forever.  While  the  young  people  were  gone 
on  their  ramble  various  dispositions  for  the  pleasure  of 
the  party  had  been  made  by  "Marse  John"  and  the  car- 
riage drivers.     Grapevines,  as  long  as  necessary  and  larger 


The  Old  Plantation.  tot 

than  your  thumb,  had  been  cut  away  from  the  large  trees 
and  with  them  were  constructed  primitive  swings ;  cushions 
had  been  arranged  with  packs  of  playing  cards  on  the 
central  one,  suggestive  of  whist,  old  maid,  seven  up,  crib- 
bage  and  the  like ;  while  backgammon  boards  were  brought 
out  from  the  wagon.  Here  they  come — here  they 
come. 

"Eli,  let  us  have  a  little  music  right  away !" 
"Yas,  suh,  dat  we  will,  wid  all  ple'sur',  suh." 
Soon  the  air  was  vocal  with  the  suggestive  notes  of  the 
old-fashioned  dance  music  of: 

"Hush,  Miss  Betsey,  doan'  you  cry, 
Your  sweetheart  will  come  by  and  by; 
When  he  comes  he'll  come  in  blue, 
To  let  you  know  his  lub  am  true." 

And  then  the  chorus,  in  which  the  fine  voices  of  the 
negro  musicians  would  ring  out  in  perfect  time  with 
the  instruments: 

' '  Sheep  shell  corn  by  the  rattle  of  his  horn, 
Send  to  the  mill  by  the  whip-poor-will." 

As  the  inspiring  notes  of  the  sable  orchestra  reached 
the  ears  of  the  party/  now  returning  from  their  ramble 
(in  such  suggestive  subdivisions  of  two  and  two)  they 
certainly  did  quicken  their  pace,  for  this  band  of  happy 
youths  knew  what  it  ail  meant.  They  knew  all  the  signs 
of  the  dance  and  all  about  it,  in  those  days,  when  it  was 
not  unusual  to  see  three  generations  of  the  same  fam- 
ily in  the  same  set;  when  the  healthful  mind  and  con- 
science recognized  the  fact  that  the  majority  of  people 
commit  forty  times  more  sin  with  their  tongues  than 
they  do  with  their  toes;  when  the  blessed  differentiation 
was  made  between  "piosity"  (as  Bishop  Williams  of  Con- 
necticut happily  expresses  it)  and  piety — between  good- 
ishness  and  godliness.  Can  you  think  of  a  young  par- 
tridge learning  to  run  in  the  grass  wet  with  the  morning 
dew?  Can  you  think  of  a  young  duck  being  taught  to 
swim?  Then  you  are  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  be  taught 
how  and  where  the  young  people  of  the  South  learned 
to  dance,  and  ride  on  horseback.     Under  the  laws  of  he- 


io2  The  Old  Plantation. 

rcdity,  these  accomplishments  came  to  them  in  the  nursery. 
The  present  writer  remembers  learning  to  read  and  to 
write,  but  he  does  not  remember  learning  to  ride  his 
pony  or  to  dance.  But  what  are  we  doing?  This  is  not 
the  time  to  indulge  in  an  essay.  Listen  to  old  Eli's 
voice,  as  he  sways  his  body  in  unison  with  his  deep  in- 
terest in  what  now  engages  him,  calling  out  in  a  strong 
voice : 

"Pardners  for  de  fus'  cowtillion." 

How  rapidly  the  set  fills  up  !  How  strange  it  is  that  the 
same  couples  that  came  down  the  ravine  together  just 
now  appear  together  on  the  platform !  Ah,  as  Eli  draws 
the  long  notes  on  his  instrument  and  calls  out,  "honers 
to  yo'  pardncrs,"  what  graceful  curtsies,  what  stately 
(but  not  stiff)  bows  are  those,  flinging  contempt  on  the 
cold,  icy,  mechanical  forms  of  the  modern  german,  as 
"For'ard  fours"  starts  the  couple  on  the  round  of  the  old- 
fashioned  cotillion  of  the  better  days  of  the  republic. 
Watch  the  features  of  that  sweet-hearted  young  Carolinian, 
who  is  not  in  this  set,  but  is  biding  his  time  and  waiting 
his  turn,  as  by  the  glow  in  his  eyes  he  is  calling  out  in 
his  poetic  soul : 

"  On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  unconfined, 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  beauty  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet." 

Set  after  set  is  danced  and  no  indication  of  fatigue. 
You  might  just  as  well  endeavor  to  fatigue  an  Arabian 
courser  as  one  of  these  young  gentlemen  in  the  dance. 
You  might  as  well  try  to  break  down  with  fatigue  a  fair 
mtelope  of  the  plains  as  one  of  these  beautiful  girls. 
Ah,  children  of  a  happy  day,  with  whom  no  coming 
events  casts  its  dark  shadow  before,  go  on,  go  on  with 
your  blessed  round  of  innocent  joy — the  cloud  no  big- 
ger than  a  man's  hand,  and  yet  flecked  with  blood,  has 
not  yet  cast  its  shadow  across  your  bright  pathway !  And 
as  they  dance  on,  with  couples  resting,  not  because  they 
are  fatigued  but  to  give  others  their  places,  what  are 
Buck  and  his  Marse  John  doing,  pray?  They  are  be- 
ginning to  take  the  melons  out  of  the  cool  pool  of  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  103 

spring  water,  in  which,  in  large  sacks,  they  have  been 
held  down  by  long  poles  fastening  them  to  the  bottom. 
This  seems  to  be  the  signal  for  dinner.  Yes,  but  what 
rumbling  of  wheels  is  that  we  hear  ? 

"B'ess  ma  lif  an'  sol  an'  body,  honey,"  one  of  the 
servants  calls  out,  "if  it  ain't  old  Marster  and  ole  Mis- 
tiss  dun  driv^  out  to  spen'  de  da'  in  honor  ob  Marse 
John's  burfda'." 

That  was  the  state  of  the  case.  Presently  the  maids 
sweep  off  the  platform,  which  is  soon  covered  by  snow 
white  table  linen,  and  then  how  rapidly  all  the  appoint- 
ments for  an  excellent  dinner  are  made — with  knives 
and  forks  and  snowy  napkins  and,  in  fact,  everything 
necessary — none  will  doubt,  save  those  ignorant  of  the 
fine  service  and  good  taste  of  the  old  plantation  dining 
room  servants,  who  were  out  to-day  in  numbers  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  making  "Marse  John  berry  happy  on  his 
burfda'."  ISTo  attempt  to  describe  that  dinner  will  be  made. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  cold  meats — ham,  lamb,  beef,  chicken 
and  venison,  with  tomatoes  and  such  vegetables  as  could 
be  served  cold,  and  all  that  anyone  could  desire — were 
there  in  such  abundance  as  left  no  one  present,  servant  3 
and  all,  even  to  dear  old  faithful  Buck,  with  any  sug- 
gestion of  an  aching  void,  but  in  such  plenty  as  to  sug- 
gest, yes,  exemplify: 

"One  continued  feast  of  nectared  sweets, 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns." 

After  the  melons  had  been  cut,  true  Southern  fashion, 
lengthwise  into  halves,  with  a  spoon,  they  were  greatly 
enjoyed,  as  each  person  industriously  betook  himself  to 
this  delicious  Southern  fruit.  After  the  decks  were  cleared 
dancing  was  resumed.  Nothing  would  do  with  the  young 
people  on  such  a  red  letter  day  as  that  of  the  birthday 
of  their  eldest  son  but  that  father  and  mother  should 
join  in  the  first  set  after  dinner.  One  could  readily 
see  how  these  two  dear  old  people  had  not  been  neglected 
in  the  matter  of  polite  education  in  the  early  part  of 
their  lives.  Eight  merrily  did  these  two  dear  old  folks 
enter  into  the  pleasures  of  the  young  people,  "in  their 


IC4  The  Old  Plantation. 

hands  all  around/'  "swing  corners,"  "forward  four/'  and 
"promenade  all,"  in  such  a  manner  as  to  reflect  credit 
on  their  old  French  dancing  master  in  the  first  dec- 
ade of  the  century.  Besides  this  they  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  brightening  the  home  life  by  joining  with  their 
children  in  all  the  innocent  pastimes  of  the  nursery. 
At  the  South  dancing  was  among  them.  Martin  Luther, 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  taught  the  people  of  Germany 
to  elevate  the  morals  of  their  children  by  making  their 
homes  happy.  The  short  criminal  dockets  of  that  fa- 
vored land  clearly  indicate  how  singularly  successful  that 
remarkable  man  was.  So  say  Marlitt,  in  his  novel  of 
"Gold  Elsie,"  and  others.  As  to  everything  on  this  earth 
there  must  be  an  end,  so  after  an  hour  or  more  of  de- 
lightful enjoyment  everything  was  packed  up,  horses  were 
hitched  and  saddled,  and  this  party  of  light-hearted  folk 
made  their  way  homeward  singing  out  in  loud,  clear  and 
sweet  voices  the  Canadian  boat  song  "Bow,  brothers,  row." 
Just  as  the  hunter's  full  moon,  coming  up  through  the 
tall  trunks  of  the  fine  old  pines  east  of  the  old  home,  was 
beginning  to  flood  the  whole  landscape  with  that  touch 
of  unearthly  beauty  peculiar  to  our  Southern  latitude, 
on  our  left,  as  we  were  driving  up  the  front  entrance, 
from  the  arbor  of  a  Scuppernong  grapevine  were  heard 
the  sweet  notes  of  the  mocking-bird  pouring  out  his 
roundelay  of  love  to  his  mate,  rejoicing  over  their  young 
brood.  Very  soon  we  heard  the  deep  voice  of  old  "Don," 
the  faithful  Newfoundland.  Just  then  a  young  gentle- 
man from  Wilmington,  in  full  sympathy  with  this  charm- 
ing scene,  evidenced  his  appreciation  in  clear,  rich  musi- 
cal voice: 

"'lis  sweet  to  hear  the  honest  watchdog's  bark, 

Bay  deep-mouthed  welcome,  as  we  draw  nigh  home ; 
'lis  sweet  to  know  there  is  an  eye  that  marks  our  coming, 
And  grows  brighter  when  we  come. 
But  sweeter  than  this,  than  these,  than  all, 
Is  first  and  passionate  love ; 
It  stands  alone,  like  Adam's  recollectita  of  his  fall." 

Just  then  the  young  couple  we  saw  riding  away  on 
Horseback  this  morning  cam©  up.     Tkej  were  singularly 


The  Old  Plantation:  Tio5 

i. 
/-■■■-  a 

silent,  notably  so  the  young  gentleman,  who,  after  as- 
sisting the  young  lady  to  dismount,  made  his  way  in 
silence  to  my  brother  John's  room.  Left  alone,  he  caught 
up  a  pen  and  in  the  intensity  of  his  deep  feeling  showed 
clearly  how  busy  the  blind  little  god,  Cupid,  had  been  that 
day,  as  he  wrote: 

"  Who  breathes  must  suffer;  who  thinks  must  mourn; 
He  alone  is  blessed  who  ne'er  was  born." 

He  went  out  for  some  purpose,  and  soon  thereafter 
our  brilliant  young  neighbor,  Tom  Wilson,  entered  the 
room.  He  saw  the  paper  with  the  above  lines  lying  on 
the  writing  table,  the  ink  still  wet,  left  there  in  the 
writer's  unconscious  abstraction,  and  wrote  currente  ca- 
lamo. 

"Not  so;  all  good  men  rugged  paths  have  trod, 
And  suffering  renders  man  more  worthy  God." 

Thus  ended  an  old-fashioned  field  day  with  its  band  of 
most  interesting  Southern  youth.  The  question  will  come 
up,  "Where  are  they  all  now  ?"  and  echo,  for  answer,  gives 
back  in  sepulchral  tones,  "Where!  Oh,  where?" 


io6  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

With  his  house  full  of  young  company,  the  old  planter 
and  his  wife  the  next  day  planned  an  excursion  to  the 
seaside,  commonly  known,  in  the  parlance  of  the  coastal 
South,  as  a  "pony-penning ;"  in  full  preparation  for  which 
he  dispatched  a  trusted  servant  with  a  letter  to  Mr.  Eobert 
McClane,  the  old  Scotch  host  at  Swansboro,  the  little 
seaport  in  the  south-east  corner  of  the  good  old  county 
of  Onslow,  some  thirty  miles  away,  asking  him  to  have 
sail  boats  in  readiness  to  take  the  party  through  Bogue 
Sound  to  Beaufort,  suggesting  that  it  would  add  to  the 
pleasure  of  his  guests  if  he  himself  would  go  along,  and 
would  he  be  pleased  to  see  that  every  detail  was  in  perfect 
order?  The  day  intervening  was  spent  by  the  young 
people  in  the  manner  customary  on  the  large  estates — in 
fishing,  hunting,  riding  and  driving,  while  some  time  was 
expended  by  the  young  ladies  in  helping  the  mistress, 
their  hostess,  with  work  on  a  silk  quilt  already  in  the 
frame.  In  the  evening  the  young  people  of  both  sexes 
who  had  been  invited  to  join  the  excursion  dropped  into 
tea  without  ceremony,  and  the  time  passed  away  most 
delightfully  until  the  hour  for  retiring  came,  with  games 
of  whist,  dancing  and  music,  and  by  some  in  those  sus- 
picious rambles  about  the  flower  garden  that  suggest 
the  lines  of  the  English  poet,  when  he  said  in  a  note  to  his 
lovely  sweetheart : 

"  Too  late  I  stayed,  forgive  the  crime, 
Unheeded  passed  the  hours, 
For  noiseless  falls  the  foot  of  time 
When  it  only  treads  on  flowers," 


The  Old Plantation/*  Tio7 

Next  morning,  after  a  good  old-fashioned  breakfast, 
amply  supplied  with  transportation  for  themselves,  serv- 
ants and  luggage,  through  the  unvarying  kindness  of  the 
neighboring  planters,  the  large  party  were  off  to  the 
seaside,  the  accomplished  wife  of  a  young  planter  gladly 
going  along  as  chaperone.  The  road  led  over  a  very 
level  country,  with  little  or  no  sand  in  the  roadbed.  Thus 
in  six  hours  from  the  time  of  leaving,  that  is  about  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  party  wrere  kindly  received 
by  old  Bobby  McClane  at  his  sweet  hostelry,  where  din- 
ner was  soon  served,  and  long  before  sunset  we  were 
embarked  for  the  run  by  moonlight  down  the  Sound  to 
the  seaside.  The  wind  was  fair  and  strong  enough  to  carry 
us  rapidly,  with  the  tide  all  right,  over  this  beautiful 
sheet  of  water,  flowing  in  ample  breadth  for  fine  sailing, 
like  a  land  locked  lake,  with  the  narrow  Bogue  banks 
between  us  and  the  ocean.  What  mirth  provoking  anec- 
dotes, what  rich  voices  in  fine  old  song,  of  the  "Irish 
Emigrant's  Lament,"  "Make  Me  No  Gaudy  Chaplet," 
"Way  Down  on  the  Suwanee  Biver,"  and  others,  with 
guitar,  violin  and  flute.  What  mirth  provoking  and  at 
the  same  time  engaging  badinage,  as  our  fine  boats  were 
cleaving  their  way  through  the  phosphorescent,  moonlit 
waters,  the  present  writer  will  not  attempt  to  tell,  but 
they  are  all  deeply  engraven  on  memory's  tablets,  there 
to  endure  as  long  as  she  is  faithful  to  her  sweet  trust. 
One,  however,  may  be  quite  sure, 

"When  young  eyes  look  love  to  eyes  that  speak  again, 
And  all  goes  merry  as  a  marriage  bell, " 

that  one  has  reached  that  sweet  era  in  life,  when  silence 
is  golden.  Itsis  long  after  midnight,  after  a  glorious  run, 
without  an  accident  of  any  kind,  that  the  gruff  voice  of 
old  Csssar  Manson,  captain  of  one  of  the  fine  boats,  the 
Etta  Duncan,  rang  out,  as  we  stood  away  from  where 
Morehead  Citv  now  stands,  across  the  lovely  Beaufort 
harbor. 

"Haul  aft  the  mainsheet  and  let  her  come  about." 

"What  light  is  that  on  our  right  bow?" 

"That  is  the  light  of  the  Fort  Macon  lighthouse  and 


log  The  Old  Plantation?, 

the  one  here  away  on  the  weather  bow  is  at  the  Atlantic 
Hotel." 

"Let  her  come  around/' 

And  in  a  short  time  the  voice  of  our  kindly  host,  Mr.  Pen- 
der, was  heard  at  his  wharf,  welcoming  old  Bobby  McClane 
who  had  come  along  with  the  party.  In  a  few  minutes 
we  were  all  stowed  away  in  comfortable  quarters,  all 
ready  for  us,  for  had  not  the  old  Scotchman  sent  ahead 
and  given  mine  host  of  the  Atlantic  ample  notice  of  our 
coming?  I  wish,  reader,  you  could  have  seen  that  sup- 
per, which  the  Edgecombe  hospitality  had  so  abundantly 
provided  or,  better  still,  if  only  we  could  partake  of  it 
now.  Fish,  oysters,  clams,  scallops  and  crabs,  all  of  the 
rich  products  of  salt  water,  with  that  remarkable  and 
best  sauce  of  all,  salt  water  appetite,  which  "waits  upon, 
good  digestion."  Will  you  believe  it,  at  eight  o'clock 
the  next  morning  breakfast  was  not  only  ready  but  we 
were  ready  for  breakfast,  young  ladies  and  all?  By  ten 
o'clock  all  the  dispositions  for  the  trip  to  the  Banks  had 
been  made,  but  the  weather  showing  up  rather  rough, 
it  was  deemed  most  prudent  that  the  ladies  should  remain 
at  the  hotel.  Off  we  went  in  quite  a  large  centerboard 
craft,  in  nautical  classification  known  as  a  "lighter,"  the 
significance  of  which  term  this  deponent  sayeth  not 
for  to  some  of  the  Piedmontese  and  mountaineers  on  board 
(we  had  not  gone  far  when  it  became  exceedingly  rough) 
in  fact  to  many  of  our  largely  increased  party,  the  de- 
pression of  spirits  attendant  on  sea-sickness  was  anything 
else  than  a  lighting  up  of  joy.  The  writer  remembers 
well  that  on  this  "pony  penning"  expedition  were  two 
persons  who  later  in  life  became  distinguished— Honorable 
Thomas  L.  Clingman,  afterwards  United  States  Senator 
of  North  Carolina,  and  Mr.  Edmond  Ruffin  of  Virginia, 
the  latter  of  whom  it  is  said  fired  the  first  gun  at  Fort 
Sumter.  It  is  generally  doubted  whether  either  of  these 
gentlemen  ever  became  quite  as  sick  of  secession  and  its 
sequela  as  they  became  that  day,  in  a  most  moving  way, 
of  the  loblolly  motion  of  boat  and  sea  and  air — of  earth 
and  heaven.  What  a  fiend  is  this  sea-sickness !  Well, 
here  we  are  in  just  the  position  to  get  a  good  view  of  the 


jThe  Old  Plantation/  109 

large  crowds  assembled  to  witness  the  penning  of  these 
ponies.  The  island  is  a  long,  narrow  one,  of  the  many 
which  flank  the  coast  here,  and  which  from  Hatteras, 
north  and  south,  render  navigation  so  dangerous.  Many 
think  these  ponies  are  the  increase  of  horses  which  es- 
caped from  settlers  in  colonial  days.  The  diminished  size, 
constituting  them  ponies,  is  the  outcome  of  interbreed-  l 
ing  and  the  short  rations  of  coarse  marsh  grass  without 
grain.  The  fisherman  and  others  who  own  these  islands 
pen  the  ponies  twice  each  year,  at  which  time  the  colts 
are  branded  and  a  sale  takes  place.  Among  the  many 
driven  into  these  pens  (led  along  through  the  gap  of 
a  decoy,  in  the  shape  of  an  animal  already  domesticated) 
one  can  find  almost  any  color  desired.  Some  of  them  are 
well  shaped,  requiring  only  the  good  feed  and  careful 
grooming  they  will  get  as  companions  of  the  young  peo- 
ple on  estates  inland,  and,  in  some  cases,  in  the  Pied- 
mont and  mountain  counties.  The  average  price  is  forty 
dollars;  indeed  it  is  said  that  this  is  the  fixed  price,  as 
corn  and  fodder  cost  nothing  here  and  the  owners  refuse 
to  accept  a  smaller  amount.  The  penning  is  over  with 
all  of  its  chaffering  and  bargaining,  with  all  the  kicking 
and  biting  and  vicious  squealing  of  these  unbridled  ani- 
mals; the  purchasers  have  supplied  themselves  and  we 
are  quite  ready  to  go.  Although  the  weather  was  rough, 
very  rough,  nothing  of  special  note  occurred  on  the  home- 
ward voyage.  Our  friends  at  the  hotel  in  Beaufort  had 
quite  enjoyed  the  day  with  its  trip  to  old  Fort  Macon,  and 
the  fine  fishing  on  the  wharf,  while  some  of  the  party  had 
enjoyed  that  luxury  even  greater  than  the  far  famed 
Turkish  bath — a  splash  in  the  wild,  wild  waves  of  old  ocean 
as  they  come  tumbling  in  on  the  fine  beach  of  this  charm- 
ing seaside  resort.  Next  morning,  bright  and  early,  our 
boats  were  brought  into  requisition  and  we  made  fine  prog- 
ress on  our  homeward  trip.  Beaching  Swansboro  after 
a  delightful  run,  the  carriages  were  soon  made  ready  and 
we  were  en  route  for  the  old  plantation,  which  we  reached 
in  good  time,  after  a  delightful  jaunt  which  lived  in  the 
memory  of  all  who  made  up  this  party  of  joyous,  sunny- 
hearted  youths  of  a  generation  passed  away.    We  knew  we 


no  The  Old  Plantation. 

violated  no  law  of  hospitality  as  we  drove  up  the  "broad 
avenue  of  the  old  homestead  singing,  at  the  top  of  our 
voices,  "Home  Again  From  a  Foreign  Shore,"  for  were 
not  the  lights  still  burning  in  the  old  home  and  in  the  dear 
hearts  of  the  old  father  and  mother?  Alas,  alas,  these 
blessed  lights  have  gone  out  forever,  and  the  darkness 
following  is  so  great  as  to  blind  with  tears  the  eyes,  rapidly 
misting  over,  of  the  author  as  he  pens  these  lines.  Hail 
and  farewell,  blessed  ones  of  the  past !  Hail  and  fare- 
well! 


The  Old  Plantation.  Ill 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

We  all  regard  it  as  part  of  the  good  fortune  which  in 
those  days  seemed  to  wait  upon  youth  that  flaming  hand 
bills  and  immense  posters  of  a  circus  and  menagerie  were 
abroad  in  the  land  at  that  time,  and  that  the  old  Eobinson 
and  Eldred  people  of  the  sawdust  and  trapeze  would  soon 
delight  our  community.  Everybody  far  and  near  was  dis- 
cussing the  oncoming  circus,  with  its  telling  opiate  to  con- 
science, that  fine  study  of  natural  history  commonly  known 
in  church  circles  as  a  menagerie,  with  no  suggestion  of 
enjoyment  in  the  circus (?).  Through  Uncle  Philip  and 
the  foremen  on  the  plantation,  orders  had  been  given 
for  a  full  holiday  in  every  department  of  the  industries 
of  the  estate.  Even  Uncle  Amos,  the  plantation  Nimrod, 
had  been  told  that  ole  Marster  had  bought  a  ticket  for  his 
whole  family,  black  and  white,  and  that  the  roll  would  be 
called  by  Marse  John  in  front  of  Ben's  house  at  ten 
o'clock,  on  the  ringing  of  the  assembly  bell.  Ben  had 
been  ordered  to  have  transportation  in  readiness,  con- 
sisting of  all  the  wagons  and  carts  from  the  lake,  together 
with  everything  of  like  order  on  the  plantation.  It  was 
scarcely  necessary  to  give  an  order  that  everybody  should 
appear  in  their  best  clothes,  for  the  racial  pride  of  our 
servants,  not  to  say  anything  of  their  family  or  planta- 
tion pride,  would  be  very  sure  to  suggest  this.  At  this 
late  day  one  can  scarcely  appreciate  the  strength  of  fam- 
ily pride  among  the  servants  on  one  of  the  best  managed 
plantations  of  that  day.  So  strong  was  it  that,  in  case  of 
a  marriage  of  one  of  their  number  to  a  servant  belonging 


U2  The  Old  Plantation, 

to  a  family  not  the  social  equal  of  their  master,  you 
would  be  sure  to  hear  some  harsh  criticisms  from  the  blue- 
black  aristocrats,  reprobating  such  conduct  in  terms  so 
strong  as  to  make  its  occurrence  infrequent.  Aunt  Dinah 
with  an  emphatic  toss  of  her  turbaned  head,  and  a  tinge 
of  bitter  scorn  in  her  voice  would  say: 

"Dat  nigger,  Sam,  gwine  to  fling  hisself  'way  anyhow; 
marryin'  dat  common  nigger  gal,  Mary  Jane.  Her  white 
folkses  ain't  no  quality  nohow  fur  nothin'." 

In  political  campaigns,  especially  for  the  local  or  county 
officers,  where  these  people,  as  elsewhere,  had  neither  voice 
nor  vote — when  party  strife  ran  high,  and  high  it  did 
run,  in  those  days  of  joint  discussion — one  would  have 
been  amusingly  surprised  to  have  witnessed  their  deep  in- 
terest in  politics,  often  wagering  as  high  as  a  half  dozen 
coon  skins  on  the  result  of  the  election.  No  one  ought  to 
be  surprised  when  told  that  most  of  these  servants  on  those 
manorial  estates  were  old-fashioned  Whigs;  for  was  not 
the  institution  of  slavery  a  strong  breakwater,  protecting 
in  its  conservatism  the  South  and  the  country  against 
any  forms  of  anarchical  radicalism? 

Be  this  as  it  may,  circus  day  came  around  and  every- 
body was  ready  for  this  high  carnival  of  fun  and  frolic. 
The  writer  heartily  wishes  that  you  and  he,  kind  reader, 
could  go  back  and  witness  the  gathering  of  the  "fam'ly," 
at  the  time  appointed,  when  the  loud  notes  of  the  assem- 
bly bell  rang  out  all  along  Broadway  and  Chestnut  streets, 
while  the  servants  began  to  gather  in  the  large  area  just 
to  the  right  of  Ben's  house.  The  writer  witnessed  it  but 
cannot  describe  it.  And  yet  (as  the  wagons,  ox  carts  and 
horse  carts  are  falling  into  line  and  Uncle  Philip,  mounted 
on  Selim,  is  discharging  the  important  duties  of  mar- 
shal, in  ordering  the  women  and  children  to  mount  the 
vehicles,  whose  bottoms  have  been  heavily  covered  with  soft 
wheat  straw)  you  must  take  time  to  look  at  Ben  a  few 
minutes.  Did  you  ever  see  anyone  quite  so  happy  as  he  is 
to-day  with  his  best  clothes  on?  Look  at  that  tall  fur 
hat  (it  was  before  the  common  use  of  the  silk  hat),  and 
notice  his  proud  movements,  as  with  pride  in  his  mien  and 
£tep,  he  takes  a  big  bandanna  handkerchief  out  of  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  113 

depths  of  his  long-skirted,  claw-hammer  coat  pocket.  His 
coat  is  of  blue  broadcloth,  with  metal  buttons  almost  as 
large  as  a  half  dollar,  and  just  as  bright  as  chalk  and 
friction  can  make  them,  while  his  black  pants  and  canary- 
colored  waistcoat,  with  bright  colored  stockings  encased  in 
patent  leather  shoes,  make  up  his  outfit  entire,  except 
that  flaming  red  cravat.  Ah,  never  was  there  a  happier 
"nigger"  on  earth  than  faithful  Ben,  whom  his  Marse 
John  had  just  dressed  up  in  a  suit  of  his  own  clothes; 
nor  will  his  joy  and  gladness  be  surpassed  when  the  mil- 
lennium comes.  Here  come  the  carriages  full  of  fresh- 
hearted  young  people  from  the  great  house,  with  ole  Mar- 
ster  and  ole  Missus,  and  the  young  people  on  horseback, 
with  Handy  driving  the  baggage  wagon  full  of  maid  serv- 
ants, and  the  old  gardener.  Marse  John,  riding  on  that 
beautiful  sorrel,  with  that  fair  and  graceful  young  lady, 
superbly  mounted,  led  the  way,  followed  by  as  happy  a  set 
of  devoted  servants  as  ever  gladdened  the  hearts  or  enriched 
the  purse  of  a  typical  young  planter.  On  they  go,  some 
four  or  five  miles  away,  to  the  little  hamlet  of  Upper  Eich 
Lands,  across  the  river  on  the  road  towards  the  old  town 
of  New  Berne. 

Without  accident  to  anyone  of  the  large  party,  safe 
arrival  is  made  on  the  circus  ground.  My  sakes !  what 
a  crowd.  It  would  appear  as  though  the  whole  of  the  upper 
part  of  Onslow  and  the  lower  part  of  Jones  counties  were 
here  to-day.  Such  crowds  of  people,  white  and  negroes, 
the  air  ringing  out  with  the  loud  guffaws  of  laughter, 
rich  and  deep;  such  instances  of  marked  attention  from 
the  ebon  beaux  to  the  dusky  belles;  such  a  flow  of  big 
"bookionery"  words  as  were  then  and  there  employed,  with 
certain  other  forms  of  speech,  not  so  loud  nor  so  articu- 
late, yet  fully  understood;  for  who  has  ever  yet  mistaken 
Cupid's  dialect  ?  Ah,  Ben  was  in  his  glory  that  day,  and 
so  was  Uncle  Philip;  while  if  you  could  have  seen  my 
man  Cain,  "gallivanting"  with  Julia  and  Edith,  the 
house  maids,  you  would  have  regarded  him  as  in  a  frame  of 
mind  truly  enviable ;  for  there  are  certain  forms  of  earthly 
happiness  just  as  contagious  as  whooping  cough  or  measles. 
Well,  the  doors  are  open  and  the  plantation  people  are  filing 


114  The  Old  Plantation. 

past  Marse  John,  who  is  standing  by  the  door-keeper, 
keeping  his  tally  to  see  that  all  entitled  (and  no  more) 
under  the  family  ticket  are  allowed  to  go  in.  My  sakes ! 
what  a  revelation  to  these  hundreds  of  dusky  toilers  did  this 
entrance  make.  Talk  no  more  to  me  of  Aladdin's  lamp ! 
These  children  of  Africa  had  entered  another  world. 
Happy !  That  is  not  the  word.  Simply  enchanted.  If 
you  could  have  seen  Buck's  eyes  when  the  band  of  music 
(trombone  and  all)  broke  forth  you  would  have  said,  as 
their  white  eyes  rolled  around  in  ecstacy,  "Happier  is  he  by 
far  to-clay  than  if  he  were  eating  'possum'  and  Waters.' " 
They  roamed  around  the  large  pavilion,  looking  at  the  vari- 
ous animals — elephants,  camels,  bears,  hyenas,  tigers,  leop- 
ards, rhinoceros  and  others,  and  you  would  have  observed 
that  all  the  ox  cart  drivers  were  together.  There  they  were 
— Harry,  Isaac,  Handy,  Tom  and  Sam — obeying  the  un- 
written guild-law  of  human  life.  On  they  went  leisurely 
until  they  reached  the  place  where  stood  the  giraffe. 
There  they  stood  as  if  chained  to  the  spot  by  the  paralyzing 
power  of  dumb  admiration.  There  they  stood  and  looked 
and  looked,  until  at  last  old  Handy,  rolling  his  big  "chaw" 
of  tobacco  in  his  cavernous  mouth  and  shooting  a  sharp 
elbow  in  among  Harry's  short  ribs,  called  out,  with  a 
loud  laugh: 

"Look  heah,  nigger,  how  do  yuh  t'ink  dat  ting  (point- 
ing to  the  giraffe)  ebber  git  up  when  he  dun  git  down. 
His  hind  legs  am  so  much  shorter  dan  his  fore  legs?" 

This  was  a  poser.  They  could  not  compass  the  an- 
swer. At  which  they  laughed  and  laughed,  moving  on  at 
the  same  time  with  the  crowd  until  they  came  to  the 
corner  where  the  monkeys  were  chained  on  the  top  of  the 
cages  of  the  larger  animals.  Here  again  they  stopped. 
They  gazed  in  silence  at  these  connecting  links  (as  some 
affirm)  between  the  two  orders  of  animal  life.  At  last, 
when  the  laughable  grimaces  of  one  of  the  monkeys  broke 
the  spell  of  their  dumb  amazement,  old  Handy  the  wit 
of  the  party,  spoke  up: 

"'Yuh  see  dem  monkevs  up  dere?  Dev  is  mi'tv  cuirisum 
critters  enyhow ;  dat  big  monkey  up  dere,  way  bac'  in  yon- 
der, dat  fellow,  Isaac,  is  yo'  cFuble  fust  cussin,  and  he's 


The  Old  Plantation;  115 

mi'ty  like  yo'  enyhow.  He's  got  lots  ob  sence,  ?s  much 
sence  ?s  a  nigger — an' — an' — he  kin  talk,  too.  Duz  yo* 
know  why  he  don't  talk?  'Case  he  jes'  fairly  'nos'  ef  he 
talks  de  white  fokeses  set  him  to  work  rite  away — dat's 
why  he  cloan'  talk." 

Well,  after  this  colloquy  between  these  two  old  darkies, 
and  half  an  hour  or  so  had  been  allowed  for  the  inspection 
of  all  the  animals,  the  time  came  for  the  ring  master 
and  the  clown  to  perform  their  part — the  trained  dogs 
and  the  acting  elephant,  the  bareback  riders,  the  various 
astounding  feats  of  acrobats,  with  the  man  who  wound 
himself  up  in  his  somersaults,  and  all  that  is  so  familiar 
to  those  who  remember  with  pleasure  this  hour  and  more 
of  abandon  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  circus,  it  was  announced 
by  the  ring  master  that  the  celebrated  lion  tamer  would 
now  appear  in  his  world-renowned  act  of  driving  the  mag- 
nificent Libyan  lion,  Nero,  in  his  chariot.  There  im- 
mediately followed  a  breathless  silence,  and  none  were 
more  attentive  or  silent  than  the  hundreds  of  servants, 
who  were  drinking  in  everything  with  eyes,  ears  and  open 
mouths.  Presently  the  lion  tamer  entered  Nero's  cage 
with  his  whip  in  his  hand,  ready  to  harness  up  this  mon- 
arch of  the  forest,  when,  to  the  dismay  of  all  who  heard 
it,  there  was  a  suppressed  angry  growl  from  the  lion. 
The  keeper,  nothing  daunted,  advanced  toward  the  ani- 
mal, careful  to  keep  his  back  to  the  door  by  which  he 
had  entered  the  cage,  with  his  keen,  magnetic  eye  fastened 
upon  the  sullen  king  of  the  jungle.  No  one  knows  what 
caused  it,  whether  it  was  the  presence  of  so  many  serv- 
ants, suggestive  to  the  lion  of  his  home  and  freedom  in 
Africa  or  not,  but  in  a  moment  there  was  a  deep  roar  from 
Nero  and  a  half  spring  toward  the  keeper,  and  the  rat- 
tling as  of  a  link  or  two  of  an  iron  chain  fastened  to  the 
end  of  a  club,  with  which  the  keeper  struck  the  lion  with 
great  force  between  the  eyes,  followed  by  a  fearful 
growl  from  the  infuriated  animal.  Just  then  some  one 
called  out: 

"He  is  killing  his  keeper,  he  is  breaking  out;  he  is 
breaking  out !" 

In  all  your  life  you  never  saw  such  a  scene.    In  less 


n6  The  Old  Plantation. 

time  than  is  required  to  tell  of  it  there  was  the  most  fear- 
ful confusion  confounded.  Crash,  crash,  crash  went  the 
seats ;  rip,  rip  went  the  canvas ;  as  the  panic-stricken  crowd, 
not  standing  on  the  order  of  their  going,  tore  their  way 
through  the  large  tent  out  into  the  open  air.  Anywhere, 
any  way  to  escape;  as  some  one  crazed  with  fear  called 
out  in  tones  unmistakable: 

"De  lion  is  loose  !  De  lion  is  loose  !  Lord  hab  mercy ! 
Lord  hab  mercy !" 

My  sakes,  what  a  scene.  Fortunately  the  white  peo- 
ple were  not  so  much  crazed  by  fear.  The  negroes  were 
wild,  and  it  is  said  that  in  their  rapid,  crazy  flight  some 
never  called  a  halt  until  they  had  crossed  the  river,  in 
their  fearful,  crazy  hurry  to  get  home.  Among  those 
who  led  this  wild  flight  was  poor  Buck,  who  never  after- 
wards could  bear  to  talk  of  the  circus.  He  had  enough, 
and  much  preferred  the  coon  hunt  as  his  mode  of  en- 
joyment. It  turned  out  that  while  this  incident  broke  up 
the  performance,  the  lion  had  been  so  stunned  by  the 
blow  as  to  enable  the  keeper  to  escape.  Not  many  months, 
however,  after  this  noted  event  in  the  simple  annals 
of  the  plantation  the  newspapers  announced  that  Nero 
had  killed  his  foolhardy  keeper  out  in  Indiana.  We  all 
reached  home  in  safety,  and  as  we  sat  down  to  dinner 
many  were  the  jokes  told  and  incidents  related.  The 
truth  demands  that,  all-in-all,  the  second  edition  of  the 
circus,  while  discussing  a  good  dinner,  was  far  more 
enjoyable  than  the  one  in  the  morning,  with  its  dangerous 
fiasco  and  ludicrous  stampede  of  the  African  race  from 
the  circus  for  home  and  safety.  The  old  planter  gave 
his  servants,  however,  a  delightful  day,  notwithstanding 
this  amusing  episode. 


The  Old  Plantation.  117 


CHAPTER  XV. 

We  have  seen  that  the  proprietor  of  this  estate  sought 
successfully,  to  secure  rather  a  willing  than  enforced  obe- 
dience to  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  plantation. 
This  he  did  by  a  wise  system  of  rewards  for  high  useful- 
ness in  special  cases,  and  by  a  kind  and  well-nigh  paternal- 
oversight  over  all  his  servants.  Eecognizing  the  fact  that 
these  people  were  his  property,  the  regime  was  one  of  un- 
broken kindness,  with  the  fact  clearly  certified  that  dis- 
obedience invariably  brought  its  own  penalty.  Kind, 
yet  firm,  his  servants  were  fully  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
certainty  rather  than  severity  of  penalty  was  the  active 
deterrent  to  disobedience.  On  a  large  plantation  like 
this  the  system  or  order  was  the  outcome  of  established 
laws,  which  were  well  known  to  his  people  from  cradle- 
dom  in  the  great  majority  of  cases.  In  the  earlier  part 
of  his  life,  following  the  example  of  many  planters  around 
him,  he  had  employed  white  overseers ;  but  as  he  went  on  in 
life's  lessons  of  experience  and  wisdom  he  found  that  with 
this  white  element  around  him  there  devolved  upon  him 
the  double  labor  of  managing  the  overseers  as  well  as  the 
servants.  From  the  lower  class  of  whites,  not  the  lowest, 
the  overseers  of  the  South  were  recruited.  Out  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  negroes,  they  were  simply  and  solely  white 
drivers,  in  contract  with  the  planter,  the  practical  work- 
ing of  which  relation  was,  that  for  the  first  year  it  was 
the  planter's  estate,  the  second  year  it  was  a  joint  stock 
establishment — in  the  estimation  of  the  overseer — who 
acted  the  third  year  as  though  the  planter,  plantation  and 


ixS  The  Old  Plantation.^ 

all  belonged  to  him.  Coming  from  that  element  in  which 
morale  was  largely  lacking,  it  was  ascertained  that  they 
could  not  be  relied  upon  for  the  most  healthful  forms  of 
discipline  and  good,  wholesome  government  on  the  plan- 
tation. Therefore  it  was  that  for  many  years  on  this 
estate  the  system  of  colored  managers  or  foremen  had  dis- 
placed the  less  reliable  order  of  overseers.  This  was  found 
in  many  respects  to  be  far  preferable,  and  notably  so  in 
that  it  maintained  the  closest  privity  of  relation  between 
the  planter  and  his  servants.  In  one  sense  they  were  all 
servants  together ;  and  to  the  most  sensible  of  the  servants 
it  soon  became  apparent  that,  in  those  close  bonds  of  confi- 
dence and  interest,  the  old  master  and  the  old  mistress 
were  indeed  the  veriest  slaves  on  the  estate,  in  those  severe 
exactions  of  time,  patience  and  watchful  energy,  with 
affection  supplied  by  them  to  those  whom  they  could  not  but 
recognize  as  so  many  overgrown  children.  Hence  it  was 
that  Uncle  Philip  was  commissioned  as  next  in  authority 
to  the  planter,  while  Uncle  Jim,  Uncle  Suwarro,  Ben  and 
Cicero,  each  had  their  department,  with  their  full  share  of 
discipline  and  responsibility,  all  centering  in  the  owner  of 
the  estate.  In  all  the  relations  of  life  no  system  to  which 
man  puts  his  pitchy  fingers  has  been  found  perfect,  while 
experience  has  taught  that  the  management  of  the  planta- 
tion, with  its  better  crops,  fewer  instances  of  punishment 
and  more  harmonious  working  of  the  negro,  the  foreman 
regime  was  a  marked  improvement  over  the  white  over- 
seer. In  those  days  the  curse  of  the  plantation  life  was 
in  the  constant  temptation  of  the  servants,  coming  from 
the  hurtful  influence  of  small  stores,  kept  by  the  lower 
class  of  whites.  These  people  were  ready,  by  night,  to 
carry  on  a  system  of  demoralizing  barter,  taking  at  their 
own  price  articles  stolen  by  the  servants,  to  wit,  corn, 
poultry,  pigs;  in  short,  anything  the  negro  might  carry 
in  his  bag,  in  any  sense  marketable ;  in  exchange  for  which 
mean  whiskey  or  other  articles  at  high  prices  to  compen-,. 
sate  for  the  great  risk  they  took,  were  sold  to  the  servants. 
Those  dens,  while  exceedingly  harmful,  were  ordinarily 
short  lived  in  the  hands  of  any  one  of  these  midnight 
enemies  to  the  planter,  who  kept  in  his  pay  a  spy  on  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  119 

movements  of  the  lawless  negro  traders.  Few  such  cases 
went  to  the  courts. 

For  mutual  protection  all  the  planters  were  closely 
banded  together.  As  soon  as  well  grounded  suspicion  fell 
upon  one  of  these  establishments  the  keeper  was  waited 
upon  by  several  of  the  planters.  A  fair  price  was  offered 
in  cash  for  his  few  acres  and  storeroom,  and  such  em- 
phatic notice  to  get  out  was  given  as  suggested  a  coat  of 
tar  with  a  full  ruffling  of  feathers.  Within  the  designated 
forty-eight  hours  the  man  had  decamped,  bag  and  baggage, 
for  he  had  a  very  healthy  regard  for  Judge  Lynch  and  the 
consequences  of  a  trial  in  that  form.  Sometimes  a  year 
or  more  would  elapse  before  another  one  of  these  dead- 
falls with  its  harmful  nuisances  sprang  up,  only  to  be 
abated  in  the  same  manner  above  indicated.  Short  lived 
as  any  one  of  them  was,  yet  they  were  very  annoying  to 
the  planter,  while  they  were  a  prolific  source  of  trouble 
to  the  servants.  It  may  be  well  to  say  in  this  connection 
that  while  corporal  punishment  was  resorted  to  in  the 
maintenance  of  discipline,  it  was  infrequent  and  never  so 
severe  as  the  same  mode  of  punishment  in  the  navy  of  the 
United  States  or  any  other  well  ordered  Government  at 
that  time.  The  more  frequent  mode  of  punishment  was 
the  curtailment  of  special  privileges  on  Saturday  after- 
noon and  close,  solitary  confinement  in  the  "lockup,"  as 
the  servants  called  the  small  jail  in  the  third  story  of 
the  gin  house.  When  any  one  of  the  servants  insisted  on 
incorrigible  disobedience  and  none  of  the  ordinary  modes 
of  punishment  seemed  to  do  any  good,  after  every  other 
expedient  had  been  exhausted,  he  was  sent  away  to  that 
Botany  Bay  in  the  lower  Mississippi  valley,  to  work  on 
the  cotton  plantations  of  that  section  of  the  South,  where 
the  commercial  features  of  the  earlier  days  of  the  insti- 
tution had  been  in  some  sense  revived,  and  where,  in  conse- 
quence, the  patriarchal  features,  as  seen  in  Virginia,  Mary- 
land and  the  Carolinas,  had  gone  somewhat  into  abey- 
ance. 

So  much  for  the  discipline,  penalties,  punishment  and 
restraints,  which  obtained  on  this  estate.  Something 
must  be  said  in  regard  to  the  care  of  the  health  of  the 


120  The  Old  Plantation? 

servants.  If  one  could  have  seen  the  large  number  of 
children  under  ten  years  of  age  on  this  estate,  satisfactory 
answer  would  have  been  given  to  many  questions  which  nat- 
urally enough  arise  in  this  connection.  The  almost  daily 
visits  paid  by  my  mother  to  the  bedside  of  the  mothers 
of  these  children  for  a  month  (never  less)  after  their 
birth;  the  facts  of  the  food  for  them  being  carried  from 
the  planter's  table  thrice  daily  by  Eliza,  special  maid  to 
ole  Mistiss;  the  regular  visits  of  the  plantation  physician, 
a  regular  graduate  in  this  case  of  either  the  University 
of  Dublin,  Ireland,  in  the  person  of  the  elder  Dr. 
Duffy,  or  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  in  the  case 
of  Dr.  Christopher  Whitehead,  can  account  for  the, 
larger  number  of  children  coming  on  rapidly,  to  go  to 
the  plantation  or  turpentine  industries  when  sufficiently 
old,  than  you  would  certainly  find  among  any  peasantry 
in  the  world. 

These  facts,  which  are  carefully  brought  out,  will  ex- 
plain the  rapid  increase  of  the  African  race  in  the  South 
prior  to  1865 ;  while  the  absence  of  these  conditions  since 
then,  together  with  the  baneful  effects  on  the  negroes  of  the 
South,  coming  from  their  close  herding  together  in  the 
towns  and  villages,  have  told  on  the  comparative  ratio  of 
increase  and  healthfulness  of  the  two  periods.  Leaving 
all  questions  of  humanity  and  philanthropy  out  of  view, 
the  great  majority  of  the  Southern  planters  took  good  care 
of  their  servants,  sick  or  well,  precisely  for  the  same  reason 
that  the  farmers  in  the  Genessee  Valley  in  rTew  York 
took  special  pains  and  went  to  adequate  expense  in  the 
preparation  of  their  fine  wheat  lands — because  it  paid  to 
do  so. 

One  may  be  interested  to  know  something  of  the  various 
amusements  on  the  plantation.  These  sunny-hearted 
children  of  the  equator,  mercurial  in  their  temperament, 
of  ordinarily  excellent  health  and,  in  their  relation  to  the 
old  planter,  largely  exempt  from  the  "What  shall  I  eat? 
What  shall  I  wear?-'  carking  cares  of  every-day  life,  were 
happy  in  their  relations  to  the  old  master.  To  some, 
the  problem  of  amusement  or  occupation  out  of  labor 
hours  may  be  thus  stated:  Eli  given  his  fiddle,  Sam  with 


The  Old  Plantation.  12 1 

his  banjo,  and  a  room  well  sanded,  twenty  feet  square, 
with  Julia,  Kate  and  fifteen  or  twenty  others  of  the  plan- 
tation girls,  dressed  up  to  kill — what  time  or  cause  had 
the  beaux  of  the  estate  to  inquire  into  the  prices  of  any- 
thing to  eat  or  to  wear  ?  Again,  around  at  dear  old  Grand- 
daddy  Cain's  house  in  the  evening,  with  old  Harper,  the 
Baptist  preacher,  or  Daniel,  the  Methodist  exhorter,  in 
fine  voice  or  tune,  with  everything  to  urge  them  to  the 
full  enjoyment  of  a  decided  counterblast  to  the  "double 
shuffle,"  "pigeon  wing,"  or  "reel,"  going  on  under  the 
inspiration  of  Eli's  fiddle,  what,  it  may  be  asked,  did  they 
lack  to  their  fullest  enjoyment  but  the  enlargement  of 
all  those  spiritual  privileges  at  the  "sociashun"  or  the 
camp  meeting,  to  which  they  were  looking  forward  so 
joyously  after  harvest. 

It  was  somewhat  amusing  to  see  in  how  many  par- 
ticulars the  manners  and  customs  of  the  planter's  fam- 
ily were  copied  by  their  servants,  so  faithfully  do  we 
all  show  the  power  of  environment.  Did  my  mother 
have  a  silk  quilt  in  the  frame  and  invite  some  of  her 
neighbors  to  assist  her  in  finishing  the  same,  in  a  short 
time  a  similar  gathering  at  Aunt  Daphne's  or  Aunt  Peg- 
gy's might  be  seen  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  with 
the  possum  supper  and  a  dance — with  such  peals  of  joyous 
laughter  one  might  hear  from  this  band  of  happy,  well 
fed,  well  housed  people.  Then  again,  aside  from  the 
coon  and  possum  hunts,  there  were  many  games,  into 
the  mysteries  of  which,  down  at  the  quarter,  the  planta- 
tion servants  were  inducted  by  the  house  servants  of  both 
sexes.  They  pitched  quoits,  ran  foot  races  and  played 
ball.  With  them  a  famous  game  was  "bull  pen,"  and 
still  another  was  "rolly-bolly,"  in  the  playing  of  which 
many  a  young  darky  would  receive  a  good  rousing  lick 
with  the  ball  if  he  happened  not  to  make  good  his  distancce 
from  the  set  of  holes  in  the  ground.  All  were  allowed 
to  go  fishing  and  some  of  the  most  careful,  trusted  ones 
went  squirrel  hunting  while  as  a  boy  many  and  many 
a  time  did  I  take  lessons  from  Caswell,  as  he  taught  me 
how  to  twist  "bre'er  rabbit"  out  of  a  hollow  log  or  tree. 
One  of  their  favorite  amusements  was  that  of  breaking 


122  The  Old  Plantation. 

a  yoke  of  young  steers  or  oxen.  High  fun  it  was  when, 
with  their  tails  tied  together,  these  young  bullocks  would 
run  away  and  clear  themselves  of  the  cart,  young  darkies 
and  all,  until  at  last,  wearied  out  by  a  band  of  these  young 
Africans,  "Bock"  and  "Jake"  would  "jest  'habe  demseFs 
jes'  lik'  t'other  oxens."  My  sakes,  what  fun  they  would 
have  in  breaking  in  a  colt,  be  the  same  mule  or  horse !  All 
these  young  Arabs  would  want  was  "Marsters  'mission," 
with  a  good  stiff  bit  and  plenty  of  plow  line.  Fall  after 
fall  might  come,  but  they  would  persevere  until  they  would 
break  down  the  young  animal's  spirit,  and  then  how  happy 
they  would  be.  Very  frequently  they  would  guard  against 
the  mules'  racial  disposition  to  buck  by  using  a  Bedouin 
bit  and  a  wooden  martingale.  Thus  outfitted  they  were 
not  long  "in  brokin'  dis  heah  mule."  And  yet  with  all 
these  modes  of  spending  their  time,  many  of  them  would 
occupy  themselves  in  the  cultivation  of  their  own  crops 
and  gardens ;  or  else  they  might  be  seen  with  a  large  bundle 
of  white  oak  splits  or  a  basket  of  corn  shucks  making 
baskets,  foot  mats  or  horse  collars. 

My  observation  of  the  negro  leads  me  to  think  that  he 
was,  under  the  old  regime,  a  far  more  industrious  mem- 
ber of  the  family  than  he  has  been  represented  by  many 
to  have  been.  As  we  read  in  the  Bible,  "like  priest  like 
people,"  so  an  industrious  planter  was  ordinarily  blest 
with  energetic  and  thrifty  servants.  It  has  been  said  so 
often  that  by  many  it  is  believed — if  the  average  negro 
on  the  plantation  bore  no  malice,  he  was  essentially  lack- 
ing in  gratitude.  The  writer  is  the  product  of  the  social 
forces  of  the  old  plantation  clays  and  can  well  claim  an 
opinion  on  the  subject  in  question.  The  negroes  that  I 
knew  and  closely  observed  for  largely  over  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  being  in  daily  association  with  them,  differed 
largely  from  that  generation  of  their  race  that  has  come 
on  since  the  war.  The  former,  under  the  close  associa- 
tion that  was  slowly  yet  surely  elevating  his  race,  was 
fully  alive  to  the  strong  forces  of  gratitude,  and  showed 
too  that  he  was  wrought  upon  (and  who  is  not,  I  would  like 
to  inquire?)  by  passion,  by  hate  and  by  malice  as  well. 
The  later  products  of  the  race,  except  in  a  few  instances, 


The  Old  Plantation.  123 

have  been  steadily  depreciating  in  all  the  finer  elements 
of  gratitude,  truth,  honesty  and  industry.  This  is  so  neces- 
sarily. They  have  been  from  force  of  circumstances, 
chiefly  political,  directly  antagonized  to  those  from  close 
association  with  whom  there  had  been  an  imparting  of 
much  that  was  gradually  lifting  them  up  from  paganism. 
Largely  over  a  million  of  them  had  become  members  of 
the  different  Christian  bodies  in  the  South  prior  to  1861, 
and  worshipped  regularly  with  their  owners  around  the 
same  altars  when  God's  holy  day  came  around.  On  the 
estate  here  treated  of  they  were  mostly  members  of  the 
Baptist  and  Methodist  Churches.  Nearly  all  of  the  older 
settled  servants  here  belonged  to  one  or  the  other  of  these 
two  bodies  while  not  a  few  of  the  younger  ones  were  re- 
joicing in  the  comfort  of  that  faith,  touching  the  sim- 
plicity of  which  a  wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,  need  not 
err  therein.  The  local  colored  preacher  attended  funerals 
on  the  plantation,  burying  their  dead  in  the  simple  little 
"God's  Acre,"  set  apart  and  religiously  observed  for  that 
purpose.  It  was  indeed  a  very  rare  occurrence  for  the 
name  of  one  of  the  old  plantation  servants  to  appear  on 
the  criminal  docket  of  our  courts.  Alas,  alas,  in  these 
days  it  is  the  younger  generation,  the  product  of  the  en- 
forced forms  of  liberty  before  they  were  ready  for  it,  which 
claims  the  attention  of  the  State's  prosecuting  officers  and, 
after  conviction,  who  swell  the  ranks  of  our  overrun  peni- 
tentiaries. The  old-fashioned  colored  man  to  this  day  is 
not  of  the  class  whose  lawless  and  brutish  conduct  brings 
on  him  the  swift  and  unrelenting  fate  of  fiends. 

But  this  is  neither  the  place  or  time  for  either  ar- 
gument or  disputation.  These  have  remorselessly  passed. 
Yet  upon  many  of  the  most  thoughtful  men  of  the  country, 
it  has  already  dawned  as  a  frightful  truth  that  if  the 
sweeping  manumission  of  the  race  was  a  mistake,  their 
wholesale  indiscriminate  enfranchisement  was  a  crime.  So 
says  the  late  United  States  Senator,  Ingalls.  We  shall 
leave  both  crime  and  criminals  of  both  sections  of  a  com- 
mon country  to  the  avenging  nemesis  of  history  and  hurry 
on  with  our  recital  of  facts  and  incidents. 


124  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

For  some  weeks  prior  to  a  plantation  wedding  there 
was  always  more  or  less  of  a  buzz  of  comment,  sometimes 
kind  and  just  as  often  unkind.  The  turbaned  African 
Mrs.  Grundy  would  pass  both  the  parties  to  the  marriage 
in  sharp  review  and  settle  whether  Ben  was  "de  nigger 
for  dat  gal,  Fanny,  to  marry/'  Even  there,  as  in  the  far 
more  conventional  circles,  there  was  a  self-constituted 
high  court  of  propriety,  from  whose  opinion  there  was  no 
appeal.  Well,  it  is  all  fixed.  Ben  is  to  marry  Fanny. 
"Ole  Marster  and  ole  Mistuss  hab  dun  bin  axed  fur  dere 
'mission/'  Old  Uncle  Harper,  the  colored  minister,  has 
been  notified.  Supper  (and  such  a  supper)  has  all  been 
arranged  "in  de  white  fokeses'  kitchen."  The  groom,  full 
of  joy,  has  been  in  the  hands  of  Marse  John,  and  his  wed- 
ding suit  of  clothes  has  been  pronounced  all  right;  while 
the  young  ladies  of  the  family  have  given  Fanny  any- 
thing and  everything  necessary  (from  their  full  and  well 
appointed  wardrobe)  to  make  out  a  becoming  outfit  for 
this  dusky  bride.  Have  you  never  noticed  how  deep,  how 
general,  the  interest  is  in  all  brides?  Pitiable  indeed 
is  the  nature  that  is  not  wrought  upon  by  the  sweetest 
S}^mpathies  and  deepest  interest  in  a  woman,  be  she  black 
or  be  she  white,  who  has  reached  that  pivotal  point  in 
her  life,  so  full  of  mystery  as  to  infuse  an  air  of  almost 
solemn  reverence  about  all  brides.  The  ceremony  was  per- 
formed in  the  large  dining  room  of  the  family  after  the 
usual  supper  hour.  There  stood  the  old  negro  preacher, 
dear  old  TJncle  Harper,  with  his  book  in  his  hand,  properly 


The  Old  Plantation."  125 

dressed  up  in  a  suit  of  black  broadcloath,  given  him  long 
years  ago  by  old  master,  with  his  high  white  collar,  strongly 
wrapped  around  by  a  broad  white  necktie,  which  was  reach- 
ing for  the  base  of  his  ears.  Did  you  ever  see  such  spec- 
tacles in  your  life,  with  such  large  glasses,  broadly  rimmed 
around  by  an  alloy  of  metals  commonly  know  as  brass 
— very  heavy  and  scoured  very  bright.  All  the  white  fam- 
ily were  there  with  packages  in  their  hands,  presents  for 
the  bride.  The  broad  veranda  was  full  of  servants,  while 
some  could  not  obtain  standing  room  there  and  were  stand- 
ing out  in  the  yard.  The  families  of  the  bride  and  groom 
were  invited  into  and  ranged  around  the  dining  room, 
leaving  ample  space  for  the  bride  and  groom.  Presently 
from  the  keys  of  the  piano  sounded  the  joyous  notes  of 
the  wedding  march,  as  the  tapering  fingers  of  Miss  Ee- 
becca,  fresh  from  St.  Mary's  School,  gently  yet  artistically 
touched  the  same.  There  was  a  deep  hush  of  deeper  ex- 
pectancy, when  in  walked  Ben,  with  Fanny  modestly 
leaning  on  his  arm.  Not  even  Chauncey  Depew,  with 
his  mirror-studied  airs  and  graces,  could  have  been  more 
imposing  than  his  much  beloved  brother  Ben  on  this  oc- 
casion; while  the  daughter  of  Jay  Gould  could  not  have 
borne  herself  with  more  becoming  grace  or  modesty  than 
did  our  African  bride.  Standing  before  Uncle 
Harper  in  mute  expectancy,  the  old  man  lifted  up  his. 
rich,  mellow  voice  and  asked: 

"Who  gibs  dis  'oman  to  dis  man?"  when  the  bride's 
father  said: 

"I  doz." 

Ben  bowed  very  profoundly  to  him  and  said: 

"I  t'ank  yuh,  Uncle  Peter,  I  curtenly  doz." 

Then  the  old  preacher  said: 

"Ben,  will  yuh  be  mi'ty  kin'  an'  good  to  Fanny?" 

"I  curtenly  will,  suh." 

"Fanny,  will  yuh  lub  Ben  an'  'bey  him  an'  sarve  him 
all  de  days  ob  yuh  life?" 

"I  will,"  modestly  yet  firmly  said  the  bride. 

"Let's  pray,"  said  Uncle  Harper — and  such  a  prayer. 

It  was  a  trifle  too  long,  maybe,  for  the  tinsel  trappings  of 
a  like  occasion  among  the  gold-knighted  dudes  and  sapphire- 


126  The  Old  Plantation. 

gartered  immaculates  of  the  "Four  Hundred"  of  New  York; 
but,  as  the  simple-hearted  tide  of  sweet  petition  went  forth 
from  that  humble  man  of  God,  black  as  he  was,  methinks 
the  angels  hard  by  the  throne  of  mercy  and  love  caught 
up  the  words  of  that  prayer,  welling  up  in  simple  faith 
from  the  heart  of  that  dusky  old  preacher,  and  in  after 
life  brought  back  full  answer  to  the  same  in  blessed  bene- 
diction. As  the  full  and  hearty  "amen"  was  uttered, 
the  deep  response  of  "amen !  amen !  amen  !"  was  heard 
from  more  than  a  hundred  servants  whose  ancestry  in  the 
jungles  of  Africa  knew  naught  of  God  or  of  matri- 
mony. 

"Stand  up !  stand  up !"  said  the  old  preacher,  and 
taking  their  hands  in  his,  he  joined  their  right  hands 
together,  saying: 

"Dem  what  de  Lord  hab  j'ined  together  is  married. 
I  bounces  dat  Ben  and  Fanny  is  man  and  wife,  amen. 
Salute  yer  bride,  bro'ther  Benjamin." 

The  report  which  followed  may  not  have  been  so  loud 
as  that  of  a  cork  from  a  bottle  of  old  Heidsic  champagne, 
but  it  was  loud  enough  to  show  that  Ben  had  obeyed  and 
it  bore  witness  to  the  fact  that  Ben  had  saluted  his  bride. 
Such  a  salvo  as  it  was.  Then  came  the  supper  in  the 
kitchen  for  the  bridal  party,  while  ample  refreshment  was 
passed  around  among  the  servants  on  the  piazzas  and  in 
the  yard.  But  not  one  morsel  of  cake  or  drop  of 
homemade  Scuppernong  wine  did  the  old  preacher  or 
bride  or  groom  partake  of  until  "de  ole  marster  and  all 
de  white  folkses"  had  been  generously  served.  Then  came 
the  feast,  attended  by  such  flow  of  fun  and  frolic,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dance  at  the  quarter,  when  Eli's  fiddle  and 
Frank's  banjo  were  enthroned  in  all  their  high  power 
over  these  old-fashioned  servants,  on  that  old-fashioned 
plantation,  in  those  old-fashioned  days,  before  the  flood 
of  constitutional  amendments — when  Uncle  Harper  and 
the  bride  and  the  groom  were  just  as  happy  as  the  day 
was  long. 


The  Old  Plantation.  127 


Yr 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  checkered  incidents  of  the  old  plantation  life,  as 
stored  away  in  the  cells  of  memory,  clearly  indicate  the 
wisdom  of  the  composers  of  our  well-nigh  divine  liturgy, 
when,  in  one  of  the  collects  of  the  old  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  human  life  is  referred  to  under  the  striking  ex- 
pression of  "the  changes  and  chances  of  this  mortal  life." 
Darkness  follows  light,  as  does  sorrow  come  so  close  after 
joy,  that  man, 

"That  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour, 
Vibrates  like  a  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  a  tear." 

Soon  after  the  marriage  which  we  have  just  attended 
came  the  funeral  of  little  George,  a  fine  lad  about  twelve 
years  of  age,  the  son  of  the  old  ox  cart  driver,  Harry, 
we  last  saw  at  the  circus.  His  death  came  so  suddenly 
as  to  cast  a  pall  more  than  ordinarily  deep  upon  every- 
body on  the  plantation,  from  the  old  planter  down  to  the 
present  writer,  the  playmate  of  the  dead  boy.  Even  dear 
old  Buck  was  sadder  far  than  anyone  had  ever  known  him 
before.  The  suddenness  with  which  death  came  to  this 
bright-faced  young  servant  had  much  to  do  with  the  deep 
sorrow  which  went  over  the  whole  plantation.  As  in  the 
elemental  forms  of  society  it  is  not  infrequently  the  case 
that  the  very  strongest  hold  is  had  upon  the  truth,  so  is 
it  that  upon  the  untutored  Indian,  the  illiterate  African, 
the  unexplained  and  inexplicable  mystery  of  death  comes 
with  greatest  force.  With  them  it  is  indeed  a  fearful 
reality,  with  no  effort  made  to  explain  it  away.     The 


128  The  Old  Plantation. 

death  came  about  in  this  way,  making  an  impression  on 
my  young  mind,  then  a  mere  boy,  which  a  half  century 
\  of  the  stern  activities  of  life  has  not  done  away  with.  This 
boy  often  went  fishing  with  me — carried  my  bait,  gourd, 
and  "toted"  the  string  of  fish  for  me.  It  was  in  the  autumn 
when  the  corn  was  ready  for  the  early  harvest.  His  father 
was  driving  an  ox  cart  heavily  laden  with  corn,  and  George 
was  sitting  on  the  load,  piled  up  high  and  kept  in  place 
by  broad  boards  on  each  side.  Thus  you  will  see  he  was 
mounted  high  up  above  the  ground.  It  was  about  half  an 
hour  before  sunset  when  his  father,  in  driving  through 
one  of  the  plantation  gates  en  route  home,  whipped  up 
his  oxen  and  came  through  the  gate  rather  hurriedly, 
passing  over  a  piece  of  scantling  between  the  two  gate 
posts,  occasioning  a  very  severe  jar  to  the  load.  The  boy 
was  thrown  from  the  top  of  the  load  of  corn  with  great  vio- 
lence to  the  ground,  and  in  falling  lost  his  life.  He  was 
thrown  with  his  head  under  him,  and  it  seems  the  lateral 
motion  of  the  cart  gave  a  twist  or  doubling  up  of  his 
body,  which  brought  the  whole  weight  of  his  body  down 
on  his  neck  and  broke  it.  In  a  moment,  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye,  this  young  African  had  gone  on  across 
the  bourn  from  whence  neither  Aristotle  nor  Lord  Bacon 
have  returned  to  bring  back  any  intelligence  of  the  Vast 
Beyond — illimitable,  ever  mysterious.  Decades  have  run 
into  each  other  and  a  half  century  has  passed  since  with 
young,  tearful  eyes  and  s}mipathetic  heart,  myself  a  boy, 
at  the  supper  table  that  night  I  listened  to  my  father 
giving  the  family  a  recital  of  the  facts  as  obtained  by  him 
from  the  poor,  heart-broken  father.  There  was  more  than 
the  moistening  of  eyes  that  night  as  my  father  told  us 
how  Uncle  Harry  brought  the  body  of  his  dead  child  for 
a  mile  or  more,  across  the  creek,  in  his  own  arms,  down 
the  avenue  to  the  playground  and  home  of  his  boy,  lay- 
ing it  in* the  lap  of  his  mother,  resting  it  on  her  warm, 
motherly  heart.  We  were  told  how  he  was  put  into  a 
hot  bath  and  all  the  restoratives  known  to  his  profession 
were  used  by  the  plantation  physician ;  but  all,  all  in  vain, 
for  his  neck  was  broken,  and  George  was  dead. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  my  young  life  that  I  stood  so 


The  Old  Plantation.  129 

squarely  confronted  by  this  icy  messenger  which  men  call 
death,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  the  deep  impression 
it  made  upon  me.  My  mother  had  not  yet  returned  from 
Uncle  Harry's  house,  where  her  motherly  instinct  had 
carried  her,  in  sympathy  for  her  stricken  servant.  As 
she  gave  us  her  version  of  the  terrible  grief  of  the  mother 
and  the  other  children  we  all  broke  down,  while  Handy, 
the  dining  room  servant,  hurried  out,  wailing  as  he  went. 
Late  into  the  night  the  voices  of  those  who  were  keeping 
watch  over  the  dead  could  be  heard  singing  their  mourn- 
ful songs,  and  it  was  very  late  before  sleep  came  to  any 
of  us,  so  deeply  moved  were  we  by  this  sad  occurrence. 

Next  morning,  Virgil  and  Jim,  the  carpenters,  were 
ordered  to  make  a  coffin,  while  Uncle  Suwarro  gave  orders 
for  opening  the  grave  in  the  little  "God's  Acre,"  appro- 
priated to  the  burial  of  the  servants.  In  those  days,  of 
less  hurry  than  these  days,  it  was  regarded  as  unseemly 
to  bury  the  dead  until  the  third  day — one  full  day  inter- 
vening between  the  death  and  the  burial.  On  the  third 
day  all  the  dispositions  for  the  burial  had  been  made; 
the  servants  from  the  orchards  and  the  lake,  with  all  the 
plantation  people  and  some  kinspeople  from  the  neigh- 
boring plantations,  were  all  there.  A  very  large  assem- 
blage it  was,  so  still,  so  awestricken  and,  withal,  so  rev- 
erent and  so  full  of  sympathy.  Ah,  how  true  it  is,  that 
one  touch  of  genuine  sorrow  makes  us  all  akin.  The 
pall-bearers  were  from  the  boys  on  the  estate,  about 
George's  age,  and  maybe  a  little  older.  I  well  remem- 
ber I  felt  as  though  I  would  have  liked  to  be  one  of  them 
— for  death  is  such  a  leveler  of  all  class  and  caste  dis- 
tinctions that  the  grave  is  a  veritable  republic.  Had  not 
my  own  mother  incited  me  to  deep  sympathy  with 
these  dusky  dwellers  in  the  dark  valley  and  shadow 
of  death?  Had  I  not  seen  this  blessed  woman  at- 
tended by  her  maid,  Eliza,  steal  quietly  out  of  the  sit- 
ting room  and,  as  she  bade  her  servant  take  up  her  silver 
waiter,  on  which  was  a  cross  of  beautiful  white  flowers, 
make  her  way  to  the  quarter?  Ah,  a  very  Evangel  she 
appears  to  me  now — what  a  very  angel  of  God  does  this 
mother  appear  to  her  own  boy,  gray-haired  though  he 


i^o  The  Old  Plantation. 


3 


may  be,  as  she  seems  to  bear  in  her  gentle  hands  the  two 
milk-white  doves,  as  it  were,  of  Charity  and  Eeligion — 
going  on  her  way  to  touch  the  hearts  of  these  dusky,  sor- 
rowing ones,  servants  though  they  be,  with  the  more  than 
magic  wand  of  woman's  sympathy. 

Well,  Uncle  Harper  is  there,  ready  to  warn  all  of  the 
suddenness  of  death  and  to  comfort,  in  his  simple  way, 
those  hearts  which  were  bleeding.  He  did  so  from  the 
words,  "And  Jesus  wept."  Were  not  the  occasion  one 
of  such  touching  sadness  and  the  presence  of  death  so  awe 
inspiring,  one  might  be  tempted  to  reproduce  some  fea- 
tures of  this  sermon  in  the  dialect  of  the  old  preacher. 
But  the  proprieties  of  the  occasion  sternly  interdict  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  while  the  old 
man's  utterances  were  fully  in  keeping  with  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion,  and  more  than  once  his  old  eyes  were 
the  outlets  for  the  welling  over  of  his  loving  old  heart, 
he  at  no  time  ranted  or  was  betrayed  into  any  of  the  more 
objectionable  forms  of  emotionalism.  In  his  simple, 
artless  way,  he  showed  that  he  had  a  strong,  vigorous  hold 
on  the  keystone  of  the  arch  overspanning  eternity,  the 
blessed  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith  in  the  lowly 
Nazarene.  Then  came  the  singing  of  that  wonderful, 
soul-anthem,  "Jesus  Saviour  of  my  soul" — and  such  voices,  I 
such  melodv !  The  scene  will  never  be  forgotten,  through 
the  deep  impression  made  upon  my  boyish  mind  at  the 
grave,  as  the  body  was  being  lowered,  by  all  joining  the  old 
preacher  in  singing  that  favorite  plantation  funeral 
hymn : 

"  Hark,  from  the  tomb  a  mournful  sound, 
Mine  ears  attend  a  cry ; 
Ye  living  men  come  view  the  ground 
Where  you  must  shortly  lie. " 


The  Old  Plantation.  131 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Since  the  days  when  there  fell  from  the  lips  of  the 
old  Hebrew  prophet  the  inquiry  of  God's  people,  "Is  not 
this  the  wheat  harvest  to-day?"  there  has  ever  been,  with 
an  agricultural  people,  a  peculiar  interest  in  those  glorious 
days  of  autumn,  commonly  known  as  harvest.  Poets 
have  sung  of  the  joys  which  properly  belong  to  it,  so 
blessedly  answering  the  hopes  of  those  who  have  known 
the  inspiration  of  the  early  and  the  latter  rain;  while,  in 
sweet  communion  with  nature,  they  have  felt  the  chemic 
forces  of  the  sunshine  and  the  dew.  The  whole  planta- 
tion was  ever  glad  at  this  ingathering  season.  All  were 
very  husj  in  the  preparation  for  winter,  storing  away  most 
industriously  for  this  less  active  portion  of  the  year.  On 
yesterday  active  preparations  were  going  on  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  guests  of  the  family,  who  had  now  but  a  few 
days  more  before  a  general  breaking  up  of  this  band  of 
youth — some  to  go  back  to  Princeton,  some  to  return  to 
Bfc.  Mary's  school,  and  others  either  to  Chapel  Hill,  the 
State  University  or  to  their  homes  in  Wilmington  or  New 
Berne. 

The  vacation  was  about  to  close.  Such  a  vacation  of 
fun  and  frolic  had  it  been.  Uncle  Amos  had  been  ordered 
to  make  the  necessary  preparations  for  a  rather  exciting 
hunt  for  wild  hogs  in  the  White  Oak  Pocoson,  which  lay 
to  the  north-east  of  the  plantation,  about  five  miles  away 
and  across  the  river.  This  heavily  timbered  swamp,  of 
many  thousands  of  acres,  drained  by  the  white  Oak  River, 
was  the  habitat  of  much  large  game,  while  it  was  the 


132  The  Old  Plantation. 

rendezvous  of  many  hogs  which  had  strayed  away  from 
the  plantations  and,  growing  wild,  had  largely  multiplied. 
So  the  hunt  for  wild  hogs  was  on  and  there  was  a  bustling 
activity,  in  the  preparation  of  guns,  ammunition,  and 
a  plentiful  supply  of  provisions  for  both  man  and  beast. 
Well,  here  they  go,  Uncle  Amos  in  his  large  mule  cart, 
with  a  large  hamper  basket  of  food  for  the  hunters  and 
grain  for  the  animals,  while  "Old  Bet,"  as  he  called 
the  old  large-bore  plantation  gun,  was  carefully  stowed 
away  and  his  four  dogs  followed  behind.  These  dogs 
were  half  hounds  and  half  bull  terriers,  showing  on  more 
than  one  occasion  their  peculiar  fitness  for  this  order  of 
sport.  The  old  planter,  with  his  two  sons  and  four  other 
young  gentlemen  (guests)  were  well  mounted,  and  as  they 
rode  off,  each  with  gun  and  some  with  bowie  knives,  fol- 
lowed by  Buck  on  his  mule,  they  suggested  passages 
in  the  border  life  of  the  "Scotch  Baiders/  on  their  foravs 
for  English  cattle  along  the  border,  in  the  days  long  ago. 
As  they  passed  through  the  barn  yard  six  mule  wagons, 
horse  carts  and  ox  carts  were  busily  employed  in  hauling 
up  the  corn  still  in  the  shuck,  and  already  a  large  pile  of 
the  golden  grain  had  been  brought  in  from  the  fields  pre- 
paratory for  an  old-fashioned  corn  shucking,  which  we 
hope  to  attend.  Nothing  of  special  importance  tran- 
spired en  route,  to  the  hunting  grounds,  on  reaching  which 
the  horses  were  carefully  picketed  and  left  in  charge  of 
Buck.  Uncle  Amos  called  his  four  dogs  to  him,  patted 
them  lovingly,  and  in  the  superstition  of  his  race  spit 
on  the  head  of  each  one  and  made  a  cross  mark  on  the 
ground,  all  for  luck,  then  ordered  them  in  for  the  hunt, 
himself  following  as  rapidly  as  the  dense  undergrowth 
would  allow.  On  came  the  party  of  young  hunters,  with 
the  old  planter  in  the  lead. 

What  splendid  old  forest  trees  are  these !  What  stately 
cypress  and  sweet  gums !  How  dense  the  undergrowth  of 
sour  wood  and  holly,  interlaced  in  some  places  by  the  lux- 
uriant growth  of  the  yellow  jessamine,  while  the  bamboos 
and  the  cat  briars  ran  here  and  there  and  well-nigh  every- 
where, in  their  rich  luxuriance  from  the  alluvial  virgin 
soil.     They  make  but  slow  progress,  as  every  now  and  then 


The  Old  Plantation.  133 

some  of  these  city  hunters  are  thrown  to  the  ground, 
with  the  foot  caught  in  these  vines.  Still  they  persevere. 
On  they  go.     What  sound  is  that  ? 

"Dat  is  ole  Jube's  voice,"  says  the  old  black  Nimrod, 
as  he  cries  out,  "Harky,  harky,  Bob !  Harky,  Saffo  !  Go 
to  'im,  Pluck." 

Presently  it  was  clear  that  some  game  was  nigh,  for  by 
this  time  all  four  of  the  clogs  were  hurrying  on  the  trail, 
causing  the  woods  to  ring  out  with  their  deep-mouthed, 
musical  voices.  The  hunters  pressed  on,  the  old  darky 
gliding  along  at  their  head  in  his  mastery  of  woodcraft, 
and  his  old  face  lit  up  with  all  the  joy  of  the  chase.  Still 
the  cry  from  the  dogs  comes  back  deeper  and  deeper. 
Again  the  old  darky  calls  out : 

"Look  for  'em,  boys !  Find  'em,  boys !"  The  pursuit 
continues.  After  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  pursuit, 
when  the  depths  of  this  pocoson  had  been  reached,  Old 
Amos  called  out  in  strong,  full  voice: 

"Ole  Marster,  dat's  no  hog!     Dat's  a  b'ar." 

The  well-trained  ear  of  the  old  hunter  had  caught  the 
angry  snarl  of  SanVs  voice  and  unerringly  he  interpreted 
it.  At  this  announcement  everybody's  expression  changed. 
Faces  flushed  and  eyes  kindled  in  high  excitement.  Uncle 
Amos  was  in  his  glory,  for,  much  as  he  loved  the  coon 
hunt  and  the  pleasure  of  sneaking  along  through  the 
grass  to  kill  the  bald  eagle,  watching  with  keen  eye  from 
his  eyrie  in  the  top  of  a  tall,  dead  cypress,  his  chance  of 
swooping  on  a  lamb  or  a  pig,  "de  b'ar  hunt"  was  his 
highest  earthly  enjoyment.  Still  the  cry  of  the  dogs  goes 
on!  The  notes  become  harsher  and  harsher,  deeper  and 
deeper,  and  the  old  hunter  knew  his  faithful  dogs  were 
pressing  their  quarry  closer  and  closer.  On  went  the 
pack,  on  came  the  hunters !  Splendidly  did  these  young 
gentlemen  bear  themselves.  Were  they  not  on  their  met- 
tle ?  The  angry  cry  of  the  dogs  comes  back  in  such  short, 
snatchy  notes  as  to  tell  Uncle  Amos  what  to  do. 

"'Zamine  de  guns,"  he  called  out. 

Thereupon  there  was  a  quick  examination  of  the  guns, 
lest  the  caps  may  have  fallen  off  the  tubes,  for  it  was 
before  the  day  of  breechloaders. 


134  The  Old  Plantation. 


<C\ 


fIs  yuh  re'dy?"  he  cried  out,  and  with  a  thrilling  ring 
of  his  voice  he  cheered  on  his  dogs.  Then  he  rushed  on, 
but  presently  stopped,  as  he  heard  the  yelping  cry  of  one 
of  his  dogs.  With  no  effort  to  conceal  his  anger,  he  cried 
out: 

"Dam'   dat   b'ar;   I'll   git   eben  wid   'im   yit." 

Pressing  on,  he  soon  came  in  sight  of  Saffo  prostrate 
at  the  foot  of  a  large  white  oak,  which,  partially  uprooted, 
had  been  bent  over  by  some  fierce  gale  of  the  equinox 
at  such  an  angle  as  enabled  the  bear  to  find  safety  from 
the  dogs  some  thirty-five  or  forty  feet  up  the  reclining 
trunk.  My  sakes !  What  a  pandemonium  of  fury  and 
noise,  as  the  dogs  bayed  deep  and  heavy  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree,  with  their  mouths  foaming  with  white  saliva 
and  their  eyes  bloodshot  from  hot  anger.  By  this  time 
the  hunters  were  all  up.  Hear  the  old  darky,  as  in 
short,  quick  sentences  he  indicates  the  mode  of  attack. 

"Dese  dorgs  mus'n't  git  kilt !  Ole  Marster,  you  shute 
in  behin'  de  fore  shoulder !  I'll  put  a  lode  in  his  back ! 
Marse  John,  you  an'  de  odder  ge'mins  fire  into  him  as  he 
falls !  'Tain't  no  use  shuting  him  in  de  hed — lied  harder 
dan  a  nigger's."  As  agreed  upon,  the  party  of  the  younger 
hunters  had  ranged  around  the  tree  at  convenient  dis- 
tances for  effective  fire.  The  bear,  well  up  the  tree,  the 
trunk  of  which  he  was  hugging  with  a  strong,  instinctive 
grasp  of  his  wild  nature — looking  around  with  his  big 
eyes,  and  mouth  wide  open,  full  of  dangerous  teeth,  as 
the  dogs  would  bay  at  him  in  loud  and  fierce  notes,  was 
growling  savagely.  Presently  Uncle  Amos  and  his  mas- 
ter, at  the  signal  given,  fire  as  agreed  upon.  The  loads 
evidently  took  effect  but  failed  to  kill  him.  As  he  was 
falling  the  old  darky  fired  again  and  with  deadly  aim, 
for  as  the  four  clogs  seized  him  he  was  unable  to  make 
any  fight.     The  old  man  called  out, 

"Dat  las'  lode,  Marster,  dun  de  wurk,  suh.  He's  dun 
ded." 

Thus  the  old  hunter  saved  his  dogs,  for  in  bruin's 
deadly  clutch  some  of  them  would  have  been  killed.  In 
a  thrice  his  keen-edged  knife  was  passed  across  the  throat 
of  the  bear  and  a  large  stream  of  blood  flowed  freely, 


The  Old  Plantation.  135 

which  the  dogs  lapped  in  their  hate  of  their  lifeless  enemy. 
What  was  to  be  done  in  getting  the  animal  to  the  cart? 
He  was  far  too  heavy  for  them  to  drag  his  body  out  to 
the  point  where  the  horses  had  been  left.  The  plan  was 
soon  agreed  upon.  Marse  John  and  Uncle  Amos  were 
to  return  for  the  mule  and  cart  lines,  while  the  other 
hunters  would  take  a  course  with  the  dogs  around  to  the 
left,  hoping  still  to  find  some  of  the  wild  hogs.  After  a 
time  the  party  returned  with  the  mule  and  soon  the  hind 
legs  of  the  bear  were  closely  tied  together  and  slowly, 
yet  successfully,  the  mule  dragged  the  bear  out  of  the 
pocoson.  While  waiting  for  the  other  members  of  the 
party  to  come  up  to  the  rendezvous,  several  sharp,  ringing 
reports  of  the  guns  well  around  to  the  left,  with  the  bark- 
ing of  the  dogs,  assured  Uncle  Amos,  "dat  sum  game 
is  up."  Mounting  the  mule,  he  made  his  way  in  the 
direction  of  the  firing.  He  had  not  gone  very  far  before 
he  met  his  old  master,  who  told  him  that  the  dogs  had 
run  into  a  herd  of  wild  hogs  and,  bringing  them  to 
bay,  the  young  hunters  had  fired  into  the  game,  killing 
one  and  wounding  two  others.  The  old  hunter's  blood 
was  up.  He  rode  on  as  quickly  as  he  could  and  pursuing 
the  wounded  hogs  with  the  dogs,  by  well  directed  shots 
dispatched  both  of  them  before  the  dogs  were  allowed  to 
close  in  the  deadly  fight.  The  kind-hearted  old  Nimrod 
succeeded  thus  in  protecting  his  dogs  which  he  valued 
very  highly.  The  large  boar  and  two  sows  were  dragged 
to  the  cart  in  the  same  manner  that  the  bear  had  been 
brought  out.  Soon  the  cart  was  well  loaded  with  game 
and  when  the  sun  was  about  an  hour  high,  the  party  of 
hunters  rode  on  ahead,  leaving  Uncle  Amos  and  Buck 
to  bring  up  the  rear.  About  nightfall  the  two  servants 
drove  up  to  the  backyard  gate,  when  everybody  came  out 
of  the  mansion  to  take  a  look  at  the  bear,  while  Robert 
and  Washington  had  been  called  upon  to  dress  the  ani- 
mal, assisted  by  two  or  three  other  servants. 


136  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Meantime  everything  was  in  readiness  for  an  old- 
fashioned  plantation  dinner,  to  be  followed  by  an  oyster 
roast  in  the  kitchen  about  ten  o'clock  that  night,  with 
dancing  coming  between  the  two.  As  was  often  the  case 
in  those  days  of  unrestrained  hospitality,  some  of  the 
young  people  from  the  neighboring  estates  drove  over, 
and  together  they  enjoyed  the  oyster  roast  as  those  royal 
entertainments  were  only  seen  in  the  old  South.  It  was 
yet  in  the  early  days  of  October,  and  the  oysters  were 
not  at  their  best,  but  had  not  the  month  of  September, 
with  the  letter  "r"  in  it,  already  passed;  and  were  not 
oysters  good  in  any  month  of  the  year  that  employed  the 
mystic  letter  "r"  in  its  spelling?  That  was  the  rule  im- 
memorial, dating  far  back  in  bivalvular  history.  We 
have  already  been  in  the  old  kitchen,  Aunty  Patty's  sanc- 
tum sanctorum,  where  many  offerings  were  made  through 
this  dusky  priestess  that  would  satisfy  even  Epicurus 
himself.  Well,  Handy  and  Buck  had  piled  the  logs  good 
and  high,  and  the  strong  blaze  had  begun  to  take  serious 
hold  on  the  wood,  when  a  large  iron  grate,  with  railing 
around  some  four  inches  high,  was  placed  on  the  top 
of  the  burning  logs.  Presently  in  came  two  servants 
with  as  many  oysters  as  they  could  well  carry  piled 
up  in  a  large  basket.  While  waiting  for  the  grate  to 
become  thoroughly  hot,  Handy  and  Eliza  had  set  the 
table  in  the  dining  room  with  special  reference  to  an 
oyster  supper.  To  each  plate  (with  it  oyster  knife  and 
fork)    was  placed  a  crash   oyster   napkin,   in   which  to 


The  Old  Plantation.  137 

hold  the  hot  bivalve.  There  were  no  chairs  placed  at 
the  table,  but  in  the  place  of  the  chair  sat  a  large  bucket 
for  the  shells — for  no  one  ever  sits  down  on  an  occasion 
like  this  to  enjoy  the  oyster  at  its  best.  Presently,  when 
everything  under  the  eye  of  Handy,  a  most  excellent 
dining  room  servant,  had  been  put  in  apple  pie  order 
Buck  rang  the  bell,  and  on  Eli  stopping  the  music  in 
the  hall  in  walked,  two  and  two,  as  merry-hearted  a  party 
of  young  people  as  town  and  country  could  produce.  As 
they  move  into  the  dining  room  what  occasions  those 
merry  peals  of  laughter  but  the  enjoyment  of  some  joke 
of  a  bad  scare  or  hard  fall  connected  with  the  hunt  for 
wild  hogs  that  turned  out  to  be  a  genuine  bear  hunt? 
It  was  quite  clear  that  some  of  these  young  gentlemen 
were  making  history  this  morning  in  their  falls,  as  many 
an  older  and  distinguished  man  in  politics  has  done 
since  then — for  example,  Grover  Cleveland.  My  sakes, 
what  is  that  Handy  and  Buck  are  bringing  in  in  that 
large  wooden  tray  (well-nigh  four  feet  in  length)  piled 
up  high  and  wreathed  all  around  with  smoke,  as  from 
the  cave  of  Tartarus !  Ah,  those  are  the  genuine  ISTew 
River  oysters  roasted  a  la  plantation.  The  tray  is  set  in 
the  center  of  the  table,  equidistant  from  every  point  of 
attack.  Hear  the  ringing  musical  voice  of  my  elder 
brother  as  he  calls  out: 

"Have  at  them  in  good  style !  Let  us  all  set  to,  as  if 
we  were  not  ashamed  of  what  we  are  about.  Miss  Nannie, 
let  me  open  you  some  oysters  ?" 

"No,  I  thank  you,  I  can  manage  them  myself  with 
this  thick  crash  napkin,  and  besides  I  do  not  care  to 
let  you  see  how  many  I  eat." 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  hear  this  bit  of  table 
talk: 

"What  is  that,  Mr.  Davis,  I  hear  you  say  about,  'Wo- 
men, like  moths,  are  often  caught  by  glare/  when  you 
are  caught  by  a  red-hot  oyster?" 

Here  the  laugh  rang  out  all  along  the  table  while 
joke  after  joke  went  the  rounds,  as  everybody  was  enjoy- 
ing the  oysters  and  the  bread  and  butter,  with  those  tempt- 
ing homemade   cucumber  pickles.     Ah,   that  hot  coffee, 


138  /The  Old  Plantation. 

strong  as  aqua  fortis  and  toned  down  with  genuine 
cream!  It  was  a  beverage  fit  for  the  Oriental  houris. 
But  certain  it  is  we  do  not  intend  to  discuss  the  supper 
any  further,  and  right  sure  are  we  that  it  is  foreign  to 
our  purpose  to  report  how  often  the  tray  was  replenished 
or  how  many  bucketsful  of  shells  were  borne  out;  for  is 
not  this  the  table  of  the  writer's  father,  and  true  polite- 
ness forbids  anything  more  being  said  on  this  subject, 
on  the  plain  principle  of  the  following  incident: 

When  the  Honorable  Joseph  H.  Bradley  (who  after- 
wards became  the  Nestor  of  the  Washington  City  Bar  and 
greatly  distinguished  himself  as  counsel  for  the  late  un- 
fortunate State's  prisoner,  Mrs.  Surratt,)  was  a  young 
man  and  a  candidate  in  Montgomery  County,  Maryland, 
for  the  State  Senate,  in  his  canvass  one  day  he  was  in- 
vited to  dine  at  the  home  of  one  of  his  friends,  who  in- 
vited him  to  the  sideboard,  and  there,  opening  the  de- 
canters of  brandy  and  whiskey,  deliberately  turned  his 
back  on  his  honored  guest  and  walked  to  the  door,  leaving 
him,  unmolested  by  his  presence,  to  help  himself.  Mr. 
Bradley  used  to  say  that  this  was  the  most  polite  act 
he  had  ever  witnessed;  and,  while  he  had  dined  with  Mr. 
Clay  and  Mr.  Webster,  he  had  never  seen  genuine  polite- 
ness in  finer  form. 


The  Old  Plantation.  139 


,  -4 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

There  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  Eoman  people, 
when  it  was  truthfully  said  in  that  vast  empire  that  all 
roads  led  to  Eome.  There  was  a  time  in  the  old  Southern 
plantation  life  that  all  the  roads  on  the  estate  led  to 
the  corn  house.  It  was,  indeed — either  in  its  fullness 
or  emptiness — that  the  faithful  nursing  mother  of  the 
muscle  and  brawn  was  shown  to  be  really  and  truly  the 
corn  house,  which  was  so  regularly  drawn  upon  in  the 
general  thrift  of  all  forms  of  domesticated  animal  life 
on  this  large  estate.  This  is  illustrated  by  a  common  say- 
ing among  the  servants,  when  the  writer  was  a  boy, 
"Nigger  make  de  eo'n;  hog  eat  de  eo'n  and  nigger  eat 
de  hog."  Thus,  the  corn-crop  was  indeed  an  indispensa- 
ble feature,  for  without  it  there  was  no  "hog  and 
hominy,"  no  well-kept  horses  or  mules,  no  crowds  of  fat, 
slick,  blue-black,  little  darkies,  swinging  on  the  gates, 
happy  as  the  day  was  long,  singing  in  their  sweet,  cheery 
voices,  in  melody  surpassing  the  children  in  the  olive 
groves  of  Italy,  "I  Wish  I  Was  an  Angel."  The  im- 
portance of  this  cereal  on  the  estate  cannot  well  be  over- 
stated. Hence,  every  year,  some  six  or  seven  large  fields 
were  given  to  the  production  of  large  crops  of  this  im- 
portant grain,  far  more  valuable  than  cotton,  sugar,  rice, 
tobacco,  or  all  the  other  farm  products  of  this  planta- 
tation.  One  can  now  quite  understand  that  large  pile  of 
corn,  yet  in  the  shuck,  so  disposed  in  front  of  the  large 
corn  house  and  cribs,  in  semicircular  form,  as  to  suggest 
a  fortification — a  breastwork  against  the  attacks  of  hunger 


140  The  Old  Plantation.  j 

in  all  the  oncoming  months  until  the  golden  harvest  came 
again.  How  busy  all  the  transportation  of  the  estate 
must  have  been  to  have  brought  together  so  many  hun- 
dreds of  barrels  of  corn  from  the  several  fields  adjacent ! 
Yet  here  it  is.  Some  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  or  more 
in  length  must  it  be,  as  in  form  it  sweeps  around  semi- 
circularly,  from  one  entrance  and  another  to  the  barn 
yard,  while  in  height  it  was  some  four  and  a  half  feet, 
and  in  width  some  fourteen  or  sixteen  feet.  How 
smoothly  this  immense  mass  of  food  has  been  raked  over 
by  cunning  hands,  and  thus  made  readily  susceptible, 
by  measurement,  of  very  exact  divisions  into  two  equal 
parts.  Why  divide  it?  Because,  in  response  to  a  re- 
quest of  the  servants,  "ole  Marster  gwine  to  gib  a  corn 
shucking  ter-nite,  and  Buck  and  Cain  dun  bin  sent 
round  on  de  mules  to  gib  de  impertashuns  to  all  de  na- 
bers."  As  Ben  thus  answers  the  question,  you  must  ob- 
serve that  his  manner  indicates  no  little  excitement. 
This  is  so  because  the  three  great  high  feasts  on  the  plan- 
tation are  "Crismus  hog  killing  and  corn  shuckin' " — 
the  first  an  immovable  one,  while  the  last  two  are  mova- 
ble feasts  in  the  African  almanac.  Pending  any  one  of 
these  notable  events  in  plantation  life,  everybody  is  more 
or  less  excited  and  thoroughly  occupied.  What  are  Uncle 
Philip  and  Uncle  Jim  doing  now  ?  With  a  tape-line  they 
are  making  an  honest,  fair  division  of  that  immense 
corn  pile,  as  nearly  equal  in  bulk  and  barrels  as  these 
well-trained  eyes  and  hands  can  make  it.  They  have 
now  agreed  upon  the  dividing  line,  and  look  how  carefully 
they  fasten  it  down  with  a  long  pole  laid  across  the  corn 
pile,  held  firmly  in  its  place  by  strong  stakes  driven  firmly 
into  the  ground.  Old  Master  is  called  for  and  he  says 
the  division  is  just  and  fair,  and  that  settles  it.  The 
estimate  is  that  there  are  about  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
barrels  of  corn  in  that  immense  pile,  which  lies  there 
like  a  big  boulder  of  food  which  a  wave  of  God's  loving 
providence  had  swept  across  the  pathway  of  these  sunny- 
hearted  sons  of  toil.  Busy,  very  busy,  are  several  of  the 
servants  in  preparing  the  supper,  which  always  follows. 
Beef,  mutton  and  pork  are  in  that  happy  process  of  plan* 


The  Old  Plantation.  141 

tation  cookery  known  as  barbecue,  and  are  in  great  abun- 
dance. Such  quantities  of  bread,  wheat  and  corn,  with 
bushels  of  sweet  potatoes  and  great  baskets  of  pies  and 
cakes  as  to  require  a  full  staff  of  these  natural  born  cooks. 
The  carpenters  are  erecting  the  simple  but  substantial 
tables,  and  Aunt  Daphne  is  unrolling  yard  after  yard 
of  homemade  white  cloth  to  serve  as  table  covers.  Well,  y 
all  the  necessary  preparations  are  going  on  under  the 
eye  of  the  "ole  Mistuss,"  whose  judgment  with  these  people 
is  oracular;  for  this  is  the  fortieth  harvest  which  she 
has  celebrated  in  her  married  life.  She  has  learned  from 
the  old  planter  that  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  servants, 
not  counting  the  women  and  children,  must  be  fed,  and 
this  without  stint.  As  the  day  grows  older  and  the  prep- 
arations continue,  you  observe  that  the  servants  are  be- 
ginning to  arrive  from  the  orchards  and  the  lake.  Some 
are  busy  making  their  "shucking  pegs"  of  seasoned  hickory, 
while  the  more  fortunate  have  hunted  up  the  iron  or  steel 
ones  which  they  used  last  year,  and  maybe  for  ten  years, 
The  shucking  peg  is  a  sharpened  spike  about  five  inches 
in  length,  fastened  at  the  center  to  the  forefinger  by  a 
bit  of  buckskin  on  the  right  hand.  With  this  they  dex- 
terously rip  open  the  shuck  from  the  ear  of  corn  held 
in  the  left  hand,  thus  saving  their  finger  nails  and  facili- 
tating the  shucking  process  to  a  remarkable  degree.  The 
dexterity  and  rapidity  with  which  they  strip  off  the  shuck, 
to  one  who  never  witnessed  it,  are  simply  incredible. 
About  sunset  the  assembly  bell  rings  and  the  servants 
assemble  in  front  of  Ben's  house  in  the  barn  yard.  Here 
they  come,  swinging  along  with  that  easy  motion  of  body 
so  expressly  indicative  of  good  health.  No  rheumatism 
here  this  evening;  no  stiffness  of  joints,  no  aches,  no  pains. 
Even  old  Handy  walks  along  like  a  boy,  while  Buck  and 
George  are  larking  around,  determined  to  have  all  the 
fun  that  is  possible.  Here  they  come !  Here  they  come  ! 
And  the  cry  is  still  they  come ! 

"My  sakes !  whay'd  all  dese  nigers  com'  f'om  enyway ! 
Dey  fa'riy  darkins  de  yerth !  dey  shu'ly  duz !"  said  Uncle 
Amos  as  he  came  up,  taking  oft  his  hat.  "Ole  Marster, 
$er's  plenty  ob  'visions  fo'  de  hole  country  to  eat/' 


142  The  Old  Plantation. 

What  are  those  men  doing  there?  They  are  drawing 
up  two  or  three  of  the  wagons  in  position  so  that  from 
them,  as  from  a  stage,  "all  de  white  fokeses  can  jes' 
hab  dere  fun  at  de  co'n  shuckin',"  says  old  Peter,  who 
is  attending  to  this  feature  of  the  preparations. 

While  this  is  going  on,  you  see  some  forty  or  fifty  wo- 
men, boys  and  girls,  some  with  baskets  and  others  with 
rakes,  getting  ready  to  rake  back  the  shucks  from  the 
feet  of  the  men  and  carry  them  to  those  tall  rail  pens 
where  they  will  be  carefully  packed  away  for  the  winter 
feed  of  the  cattle.  After  half  an  hour  or  more  has  passed, 
waiting  for  the  latest  arrivals  of  reinforcements,  whose 
deep,  rich  voices  you  can  hear  now  coming  in  several  direc- 
tions from  the  plantations  around,  every  note  of  which  is 
full  of  that  peculiar  joy  so  well  known  to  the  African  ear, 
and  which  can  come  from  none  other  than  the  old  plan- 
tation darky's  throat, — well,  here  they  all  are  at  last 
and,  before  anything  else  is  done,  they  must  all  pass  in 
review  before  the  old  master,  because  there  are  some 
servants  on  the  adjoining  estates  that  he  will  not  allow 
to  attend  pleasure  makings  of  any  character  on  his  plan- 
tation. They  are  the  disreputable  darkies  of  that  por- 
tion of  the  county  and  regarded  as  unfit  associates  for 
his  servants.  He  takes  his  position  on  the  steps  of  Ben's 
house,  and  with  hats  off  the  procession  files  by.  Presently 
Uncle  Philip  announces  that  Isaac  and  Arnold  are  the 
two  chosen  captains;  whereupon  there  is  a  great  yell 
of  approbation.  These  two  young  men  then  begin  the 
division  of  the  hands,  after  a  most  novel  plan  to  you, 
dear  reader,  who  have  never  attended  a  corn  shucking. 
By  this  time  a  dozen  or  more  half  grown  boys  come  for- 
ward, their  pine  torches  flaming  with  bright  light,  and 
the  scene  becomes  weird  and  very  animated.  Here  stand 
the  two  captains,  and  splendid  specimens  of  youthful 
vigor  they  are.  Here  comes  Uncle  Jim,  and  as  he  walks, 
up  he  takes  a  knife  out  of  his  pocket,  saying  to  the  cap- 
tains : 

"Dis  is  fur  de  furst  ch'ice  ob  de  shuckers,"  and  with 
that  he  throws  the  knife  in  the  air  calling  out,  "Cross 
or  pile?"  to  which  Isaac  must  make  an  answer.     If  he 


The  Old  Plantation.  143 

says  "cross,"  and  the  knife  on  the  ground  shows  a  metal 
bar  on  the  uppermost  side  of  the  handle,  Isaac  wins  on 
that  throw,  and  vice  versa.  Then  Uncle  Jim  addresses 
Arnold  on  the  same  conditions  he  applied  to  Isaac.  The 
captain  who  wins  the  best  two  out  of  three  or  who  first 
guesses  twice  right  has  the  first  choice  of  hands,  and  you 
may  be  sure  they  guard  their  rights  almost  religiously. 
Then  the  choice  goes  on,  each  captain  choosing  his  fol- 
lowers until  they  have  gone  through  the  whole  number 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  hands  or  more,  each  man,  as  his 
name  is  called,  ranging  himself  behind  his  captain.  Then 
the  captains  resort  to  the  arbitrament  of  the  cross  and 
pile,  as  before  seen,  in  the  choice  of  the  two  halves  of  the 
corn  pile.  The  victorious  captain,  with  two  or  three  of 
his  most  trusted  followers,  will  then  carefully  walk  over 
the  whole  pile  of  corn,  closely  inspecting  it,  so  as  to  hit 
upon  that  half  which,  in  his  judgment,  has  the  less  num- 
ber of  barrels  to  be  shucked,  thus  making  way  for  victory. 
After  he  has  decided,  he  keeps  his  counsel  until  they  have 
had  a  word  or  two  from  the  old  master,  in  the  way  of 
caution  against  bad  temper  or  any  tricks  which  may  serve 
to  irritate  or  make  their  adversaries  angry.  Then,  with 
as  much  solemnity  as  any  old  Greek  would  employ  in 
consulting  the  Delphic  oracle,  the  two  captains  come 
out  to  the  dividing  line  of  the  corn  pile,  shaking  hands 
in  perfect  silence,  everybody  around  them  as  silent  as 
the  grave,  make  a  cross  on  the  ground,  and  spit  on  it  for 
luck.  Then,  as  if  shot  from  as  many  Parthian  bows, 
the  two  captains  call  their  respective  followers  to  them 
and  the  corn  shucking  is  on  in  all  its  glory.  Such  noise, 
such  confusion,  such  bantering,  such  boasting,  until  the 
two  captains  settled  themselves  down  at  the  base  of  the 
dividing  line,  marked  by  the  long  cypress  pole,  along 
which  they  must  shuck  through  the  pile  in  such  a  way 
as  not  to  cause  the  pole  to  fall  over  on  either  side.  The 
scene  which  now  ensues  simply  beggars  description.  Dear 
old  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  has  delighted  the  Anglo-Saxon 
reader  of  Waverley  in  his  matchless  description  of  the 
Tournament  of  Ashby  de  la  Zouche,  would  fail  in  its 
portrayal.    The  gifted  author  of  Ben  Hur  succeeding 


144  The  Old  Plantation. 

in  his  chariot  race  would  not  attempt  it.  The  author 
has  seen  hundreds  of  men  wild  with  excitement  at  big 
fires  in  large  cities — as  a  young  lawyer,  when  politics  ran 
high  in  the  joint  discussion  of  the  old  Southern  cam- 
paigns, he  has  witnessed  how  far  excitement  would  sweep 
men  away  in  wild  fury — but  these  were  white  men  and 
less  emotional  than  these  three  hundred  Africans  ranged 
around  this  pile  of  corn.  While  the  corn  shucking  is 
going  on  and  these  men  are  warming  up  fully  to  their 
work,  let  us  look  into  those  wagons  over  there.  The 
young  people  from  a  number  of  the  adjoining  estates  have 
come  over  to  enjoy  the  fun  of  the  corn  shucking  and  the 
pleasure  of  the  company  in  the  dance,  etc.,  at  the  great 
house.  It  is  quite  a  large  company  of  both  sexes  you 
see  there  mounting  up  into  those  wagons,  and  you  may 
be  sure  they  are  having  a  blessed  good  time,  if  laughter 
and  jokes  betoken  an  abandon  to  fun  and  frolic.  Hear 
them  as  they  begin  to  wager,  here  a  pair  of  kid  gloves, 
there  a  handsome  driving  whip  or  a  silver  dog  whistle, 
or  this  and  that  and  the  other,  on  the  corn  shucking.  My 
sakes !  what  a  chorus  of  magnificent  voices  is  that  we  hear 
as  the  air  is  rent  with  the  songs  of  these  corn  shuckers. 
Hear  them  for  a  moment  as  they  sing  away,  the  ears  of 
corn  nvinar  towards  the  corn  house  as  thick  as  snowflakes 
in  a  storm,  while  the  shucks  are  raked  away  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Each  company  seems  to  have  its  own  leader 
of  songs  while  all  the  others  will  join  in  the  chorus.  In  all 
your  life  did  you  ever  hear  such  fine  voices — some  as  clear 
and  strong  as  Kent  bugles  and  others  as  soft  as  a  German 
flute.  Mark  you,  the  women  and  the  boys  and  girls  are 
all  joining  in  the  chorus.  Hear  them  as  the  leader,  in 
a  clear,  strong  voice,  calls  out : 

"Massa  is  in  de  grate  house  countin'  out  his  money, 

Chorus:  Oh,  shuck  dat  co'n  an'  trow't  in  de  ba'n, 
Mistis  in  de  parler  eatin'  bred  an'  honey, 

Chorus :  Oh,  shuck  dat  co'n  an'  trow't  in  de  ba'n, 
Sheep  shell  co'n  by  de  rattle  of  his  ho'n, 

Chorus:  Oh,  shuck  dat  co'n  an'  trow't  in  de  ba'n, 
Send  to  de  mill  by  de  whipperwill. 

Chorus:  Oh,  shuck  dat  co'n  an'  trow't  in  de  barn." 


The  Old  Plantation.  145 

And  then  a  hundred  voices  would  ring  out  half  a  dozen 
times  or  more,  repeating  the  chorus  until  the  leader  would 
again  call  out: 

' '  Ole  Dan  Tucker  he  got  drunk, 
Chorus : 
Fell  in  de  fiah  an'  kick'd  up  a  chunk, 
A  red-hot  coal  got  in  his  shoe, 
An'  oh,  lawd  me,  how  de  ashes  flu." 

And  then  the  full  chorus  half  a  dozen  times  over. 
The  truth  is,  the  scene  in  all  its  varied  features  simply 
beggars  description,  and  while  this  is  in  no  wise  descrip- 
tive of  it,  it  may  serve  to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
what  a  full  round  of  melody  we  would  have,  when,  as  was 
often  the  case,  fully  three  hundred  voices  would  swell  out 
in  the  chorus.  Meantime  the  work  went  on,  and  the 
deeper  they  went  into  the  great  pile  of  corn  the  higher 
would  rise  their  excitement,  and  the  deeper  and  richer 
their  voices  in  simple-hearted  songs.  Some  of  these  were 
descriptive,  others  simply  recitative,  in  the  conduct  of 
which  some  of  the  leaders  were  quite  gifted — making  up 
the  song  as  they  went  along.  Frequently  it  was  that 
plantation  incidents,  events  in  the  community  or  the 
personal  peculiarity  of  some  servant  would  be  brought 
out  by  the  leader  in  giving  a  cue  to  the  chorus  which  was 
to  follow.  No  pile  of  corn,  no  body  of  men,  could  stand 
up  long  under  such  telling  work.  And  yet  it  went  on 
for  two  hours  or  more  until  the  fastest  shuckers  had  gone 
through  the  pile  and  were  now  about-facing,  when  the  ex- 
citement as  they  neared  the  close  of  the  race  deepened  every 
moment.  Stop  your  talking  in  the  wagon  for  a  moment 
or  two !  Listen  to  those  short,  quick,  nervous  cries  as 
they  call  out,  in  quivering  energy,  "Oh,  shuck  dat  co'n 
and  trow't  in  de  ba'n."  They  show  clearly  that  the  race 
is  about  to  close.  Presentlv  as  the  victorious  side  winds 
up  the  race,  you  would  have  thought  that  a  cyclone  had 
broken  loose,  from  the  way  that  a  cloud  of  shucks  were 
thrown  up  in  the  air,  in  token  of  their  victory.  Two  or 
three  of  the  strongest  of  the  company  then  caught  up  the 
victorious  captain  on  their  shoulders  and  bore  him  away 
in  triumph  to  the  old  planter  to  be  crowned  as  the  victor, 


146'  The  Old  Plantation.' 

amidst  such  shouts  and  cries  of  joy  as  you,  dear  reader, 
have  never  heard  unless  at  an  old-fashioned  plantation 
corn  shucking.  Corn  shucking,  not  corn  husking. 
White  people  husk  corn,  negroes  shuck  it — wonderful  dif- 
ference between  the  two  processes  is  there — quite  as  much 
as  between  the  white  man  playing  on  his  violin  and  the 
negro  playing  on  his  riddle.  What  a  proud  negro  cap- 
tain Isaac  is,  as  his  "ole  marster"  crowns  him  with  a  new 
hat,  shakes  his  hand,  drops  a  five-dollar  gold  piece  in  it 
and  tells  him  to  take  the  other  captain  by  the  hand  and 
invite  him  and  everybody  else  to  go  up  to  supper.  This 
he  does,  and  such  a  crowd  and  such  a  supper — plenty  and 
to  spare  for  every  man,  woman  and  child  there,  with 
Uncle  Philip  as  master  of  ceremonies,  directing  Handy, 
Cain,  George  and  Buck  to  "wate  on  dem  comp'ny  niggers 
fus',  after  dey  dun  gib  de  two  captains  plenty  ob  sup- 
per an'  lots  ob  good  coffee." 

In  the  earlier  part  of  his  life  the  old  planter's  custom 
had  been  to  give  them  plenty  of  whiskey,  but  far  too  many 
fights  and  far  too  much  blood  were  the  outcome  of  the 
whiskey.  He  substituted,  in  the  latter  days  of  his  life, 
the  best  of  coffee  for  whiskey.  After  everybody  had  fully 
enjoyed  their  well  deserved  meal,  and,  in  fact,  every 
feature  of  the  corn  shucking,  there  followed  some  fine 
singing  of  the  good  old  plantation  songs,  among  which 
were  "Old  Dog  Tray,"  "Marster's  in  de  Cold,  Cold 
Groun',"  "Carry  me  Bac?  to  Ole  Berginny,"  and  a  half 
a  dozen  or  more  of  those  old-fashioned  songs,  when  all 
would  go  to  their  homes,  not  for  "de  nite,"  because  it's 
"mos'  de  broke  ob  day." 


The  Old  Plantation.  147 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

There  has  ever  been  to  the  mind  of  man  more  or  less 
of  mystery  about  the  night.  To  the  illiterate  of  all  races 
this  has  always  been  expressly  so.  The  mind  of  the  plan- 
tation darky  before  the  war,  was  no  exception  to  this 
rule.  They  illustrated  the  great  truth,  operative  among 
all  classes  and  conditions  of  men,  that  education  holds 
the  only  torch  whose  bright  rays  serve  to  dispel  the  dark- 
ness incident  to  our  journey  through  life. 

These  people,  dwarfed  by  the  ignorance  of  ancestral 
environment,  were  the  subjects  of  many  superstitions. 
They  believed  fully  in  all  the  distorted  creations  of  the 
supernatural.  They  held  firmly  to  the  sway  of  witches 
and  recognized  the  full  and  often  fell  power  of  "conjur- 
ers" of  their  own  race.  At  night  they  were  overmastered 
very  often  by  their  abject  terror  of  ghosts  and  goblins. 
The  hooting  of  an  owl  in  the  dead  hour  of  the  night,  or 
the  crowing  of  a  cock  near  the  doorway  of  their  little 
homes  in  the  daytime,  the  crackling  of  the  burning 
brands  on  their  hearthstone,  the  passage  of  a  squirrel  or 
rabbit  along  their  pathway,  the  failure  to  go  out  of  the 
house  by  the  same  door  you  entered,  and  many  other 
incidents  of  their  lives,  were  omens  of  good  or  evil,  as 
they  had  been  taught  by  their  ancestry  in  Africa  to  in- 
terpret them.  Up  to  the  date  of  the  events  of  these  pages 
this  race,  benumbed  by  ignorance  and  fettered  by  super- 
stition, had  not  been  sufficiently  long  subjected  to  the 
uplifting  of  association  with  superior  civilization  to  be 
fully  freed  from  the  sway  of  these  hurtful  forces.     Fitted 


1 48  The  Old  Plantation" 

or  not  as  they  may  have  been  for  any  other  form  of 
manumission,  their  subsequent  history  clearly  attests  the 
fact  that  they  have  not  been  sufficiently  freed  from  them- 
selves to  be  clothed,  in  safety,  with  the  finer  forms  of 
American  citizenship. 

But  it  is  foreign  to  the  object  of  these  pages  to  present 
a  disputation  on  the  vexed  and  vexatious  race  problem  in 
the  South.  Fortunate,  most  fortunate,  will  that  man 
be,  who  may  clear  away  the  difficulties  of  the  situation 
and  speak  peace  to  the  American  people  on  this  subject. 
To  his  memory  a  grateful  people  would  rear  a  monu- 
ment, even  more  colossal  than  that  already  built  to 
symbolize  their  love  and  gratitude  to  that  great  slave 
holder,  George  Washington.  Dropping  this  subject  with 
the  comforting  assurance  that  there  is  a  divinity  which 
shapes  the  ends  alike  of  individuals  and  nations,  let  us, 
dear  reader,  go  and  see  these  plantation  people  engaged 
in  some  of  their  other  pastimes  and  amusements.  While 
in  some  sense  there  was  a  round  of  labor  from  January 
to  December,  there  were  many  breaks  in  it — many  sea- 
sons and  various  occasions  of  what  was  to  these  servants 
fine  fun  and  high  frolic.  We  have  seen  how  much  they 
enjoyed  the  corn  shucking  and  how  fully  they  could  aban- 
don themselves  to  the  circus  or  horse  race;  yet  we  greatly 
doubt  if  anything  could  or  did  take  the  place  with  the 
old-fashioned  darky  of  the  veritable  coon  hunt.  With 
them,  indeed,  the  possum  hunt  was  a  delectation,  associ- 
ated as  it  ever  was  with  the  high  feast  of  "taters  an' 
possum  graby;"  but  after  all  it  was  a  low  form  of  mere 
pot  hunting.  When,  however,  the  darky  went  out  coon 
hunting  his  finest  forms  of  energy  and  cunning  were  neces- 
sarily called  out  in  coping  with  that  "varmint,"  which 
so  often  baffled  his  woodcraft.  The  difference  between 
possum  and  coon  hunting  was  this — the  negro  hunted  the 
former  for  food,  while  he  gloried  in  a  coon  hunt  for  the 
sport,  the  excitement  in  which  the  fight  between  his  fa- 
vorite dogs  and  the  coon  was  exciting  and  enjoyable,  far 
more  so  than  that  of  an  Englishman  contending  on  a 
race  course,  for  the  Derby  Cup.  The  relations  of  the 
dog  and  the  coon  ever  involved  a  mystery,  which  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  149 

darky  has  never  been  able  satisfactorily  to  solve.  As 
a  boy  on  the  old  plantation,  the  writer  has  often  had  it 
thus  propounded  by  his  own  body  servant,  Cain: 

"Marse  Jeems,  how  doz  yuh  splain  dis:  Ole  Boss  kin 
whip  a  possum ;  a  possum  kin  whip  a  coon,  an'  den  de  coon 
kin  turn  rite  'roun'  an'  whip  de  dorg.  How  yuh  splain 
dat?     'Fore  Gawd,  dat  is  mfty  quar'  anyhow." 

Well,  all  things  are  ready  now  for  "de  coon  hunt." 
Buck  and  Cain  have  provided  themselves  with  plenty  of 
fine  light  wood  for  the  torches,  and  Uncle  Amos,  you  see, 
has  his  two  fine  old  dogs,  Boss  and  Sappho,  following 
him,  as  the  old  man  turns  away  from  the  grindstone, 
with  the  clear  light  of  the  torches  glinting  from  the  bright 
blade  of  his  sharp  axe,  which  he  carefully  hands  to  his 
son,  young  Amos,  telling  him  to  be  "monstus  tickler  wid 
dat  axe  enyhow,"  while  the  old  darky  takes  up  his  gun 
and,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  moves  on  to  Marse  John's 
office.  Here  is  a  party  of  young  gentlemen  ready  for 
the  hunt,  and  who  are  waiting  for  George  and  Henry 
to  come  on  with  the  axes.  So  off  they  started  about  nine 
o'clock  at  night.  Everything  was  favorable — the  moon 
was  in  its  last  quarter,  the  wind  was  light,  and  it  was 
just  cloudy  enough,  the  old  hunter  said,  "fo'  de  scent  ob 
varmints  to  lie  rite."  The  hunting  ground  was  some  two 
miles  away  along  the  river  swamp,  which  was  heavily  set 
with  large  cypresses,  -  gums  and  white  oak  timber,  with 
the  usual  undergrowth  of  hornbeam  and  dogwood.  The 
habit  of  the  raccoon  is  to  make  his  special  home  in  these 
thick  swamps,  always  near  a  water  course,  finding  a  hol- 
low tree,  in  which  he  rears  his  family  in  safety;  while 
both  male  and  female  will  sally  out  into  the  neighboring 
plantation  in  their  destructive  forays  upon  the  corn 
crop  while  it  is  yet  in  its  milky  or  roasting  ear  condi- 
tion. They  select  their  den  near  a  stream  of  water,  for 
the  double  purpose  of  being  convenient  to  the  fish  and 
mussels  found  there,  of  which  they  are  very  fond,  and 
for  finding  a  safe  retreat  in  the  water  when  closely  pressed 
by  an  enemy.  The  raccoon  is  not  strictly  amphibious, 
but  his  lungs  are  so  constructed  that  he  can  live  a  long 
time  under  water,  and  thus  drown  a  dog  or  a  wildcat  if 


150  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  two  become  engaged  in  deadly  clinch.  In  the  laws 
of  instinct  how  nature  seems  to  take  care  of  all  her  chil- 
dren, if  some  of  them  would  only  trust  her  as  implicitly 
as  the  coon  does  the  water  when  hotly  pressed. 

The  hunters  had  been  for  some  half  hour  or  more 
making  their  way  through  this  deep  forest.  The  dogs 
were  thrown  out  on  the  hunt,  right  and  left,  with  noth- 
ing to  break  the  deep  silence  save  the  occasional  hoot 
from  an  owl  out  on  his  foray  for  food,  or  the  "cheer-up" 
of  the  ground  squirrel  as  he  scampered  away,  frightened 
by  the  light  of  the  torches,  and  the  suppressed  cry  of  the 
different  forms  of  larger  insect  life.  Now  and  them  some 
one  of  the  young  hunters,  more  accustomed  to  city  side- 
walks and  gas  lights  than  to  a  night  tramp  in  the  forest, 
would  fall  over  a  log  or  catch  his  foot  in  a  bamboo  briar; 
when,  necessarily  obeying  the  law  of  gravitation,  down  he 
would  come — and  sometimes  spoke  a  form  of  English 
he  did  not  learn  in  the  Sundav-school.  The  dogs  were 
well  trained  and  the  old  hunter  trusted  them  implicitly, 
so  on  they  went,  the  autumn  night  wind  sighing  in  the 
boughs  overhead  and  the  silent  stars  watching  in  their 
courses.  Presently  the  deep  bark  of  old  Sappho  was 
heard  well  over  on  the  left.  In  a  moment  Uncle  Amos 
cheered  on  his  dogs,  calling  out: 

"Hark  to  her,  Boz;  call  'em  up,  ole  gal,"  and  then  he 
said,  "Dat's  a  coon  as  sure's  yuh's  bo'n,  Marse  John ;  doan' 
yuh  hear  de  ole  gal's  voice?" 

He  pushed  on  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  dogs. 
By  this  time  both  dogs,  with  fine,  rich  voices,  were  wak- 
ing up  the  echoes  of  the  lonely  woods  and  showed  clearly 
they  were  moving  the  game.  The  coon,  unlike  the  fox, 
rarely  makes  a  long  lead,  but  trusts  more  to  the  friendly, 
overhanging  trees  and  the  deep  water,  as  a  last  resort, 
when  hotly  pressed.  The  short,  jerky  notes  of  the  dogs' 
voices  showed  clearly  that  the  trail  was  a  hot  one,  and 
Uncle  Amos,  from  his  ripe  experience,  knew  full  well 
that  they  would  soon  run  the  game  to  cover.  Presently 
a  very  different  call  from  the  dogs  informed  us  that  the 
coon  had  taken  to  a  tree  and  then  the  old  man  broke  out 
with  great  energy,  "Speak  to  ?im,  boys !     Gib  us  de  news ! 


The  Old  Plantation.  151 

Look  to  'im,  ole  gal."  Then  he  pushed  on,  followed  by 
the  whole  party.  Soon  we  reached  the  banks  of  the  river, 
where  on  a  tongue  of  land  formed  by  a  lagoon  just  above 
us  there  grew  a  very  large  willow  oak,  at  the  base  of  which 
both  dogs  were  barking  in  such  a  furious  way  as  to  tell 
its  own  story,  even  if  they  had  not  climbed  up  on  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  as  far  as  they  could.  Uncle  Amos 
spoke  up  with  no  little  excitement  in  his  voice  and  man- 
ner: 

"He's  dun  up  heah,  Marse  John,  suah  as  yuh  is  bawn; 
dese  dogs  don't  lie,  suah.  Some  niggers  lies,  but  dese 
dogs  nebber;  he's  up  heah  an'  he  got  to  cum  down." 

George  and  Henry  were  ordered  to  cut  down  the  large 
oak,  taking  care,  under  the  old  man's  order,  to  cut  the 
tree  so  it  should  fall  away  from  the  river.  My  sakes ! 
how  the  chips  fly,  as  these  two  axemen,  excited  by  the 
prospect  of  fine  sport,  throw  themselves  into  the  work. 
While  this  was  going  on  the  old  hunter  had  crossed  the 
lagoon,  and  with  a  torch  flaming  in  his  hand  in  the 
most  rapid  manner  was  shining  the  eyes  of  the  coon. 
Soon  he  called  out: 

"Marse  John,  yuh  make  dem  niggers,  Buck  an'  Cain, 
sta't  up  a  fiah  down  dere  clos'  to  de  ribber.  Dis  gwine 
to  tak'  all  de  lite  we  kin  git." 

A  few  moments  later  the  old  man  called  out  in  full 
assurance  that  the  coon  was  there,  well  up  towards  the 
top  of  the  tree.  Meantime,  he  had  built  up  a  large  fire 
on  his  side  of  the  lagoon,  and  presently  for  yards  around 
everything  was  flooded  with  light,  when  he  recrossed  and, 
as  he  walked  away  from  the  tree,  measured  with  his  eye 
the  distance  he  thought  the  tree  would  reach  on  the 
ground.  Then  he  took  Sappho  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lagoon  and  asked  his  young  master  to  please  take  the 
other  dog  far  enough  away  to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  fall- 
ing tree.  Just  then  the  great  oak,  creaking  and  groan- 
ing, as  if  loath  to  fall,  began  at  the  top  to  sway  and 
swing.     Cried  the  old  man: 

"Cut  dat  lef  han'  co'ner  quick,  boys,  and  fling  her 
'way  f'om  de  ribber,  an'  look  out  all  han's,  fo'  de  coon  is 


a-cumrmn." 


152  The  Old  Plantation. 

Just  then  the  tree  came  down  with  a  great  crash;  yei 
before  it  struck  the  ground  out  from  the  limbs  sprang 
the  coon  in  the  direction  of  the  lagoon,  but  old  Boss  was 
a  little  too  quick  for  him.  They  closed,  they  clinched, 
and  such  a  fight  as  neither  you  or  I  can  describe  ensued, 
while  each  moment,  with  great  activity,  the  coon  seemed 
to  be  getting  nearer  the  water.  Just  then  old  Sappho 
came  to  old  Boss's  help.     The  old  darky  cried  out: 

"Keep  'im  out'n  de  watah,  boys !  keep  'im  out'n  de 
watah,  boys!  he'll  drown  dem  dogs  ef  he  git  'em  in  de 
watah." 

After  a  furious  fight  for  some  minutes,  just  on  the 
brink  of  the  lagoon,  the  old  clog  succeeded  in  getting  the 
coon  by  the  throat  and  the  struggle  was  soon  over. 

"He  dun  got  de  steel  trap  grip  on  'im  now,"  called  out 
George,  and  as  excitement  ran  very  high  among  the  whole 
party  Uncle  Amos  allowed  the  dogs  to  do  him  up  thor- 
oughly. The  coon  sold  his  life  clearly,  however,  for  the 
blood  was  flowing  from  the  ears  and  noses  of  both  dogs, 
as  their  enemy  had  set  all  four  of  his  claws  deep  down 
and  torn  the  flesh  clear  out.  While  the  fight  was  going 
on  the  negroes  were  calling  in  loud  tones  of  deep  excite- 
ment, "Go  fer  him,  Boz  !  Hold  him,  Sappho !  Eat  him 
up,  ole  gal !"  After  a  time,  when  the  fight  was  over 
and  the  victory  complete,  the  old  hunter  called  both  of 
his  dogs  up  to  him  and  examined  them  closely.  When  he 
saw  the  blood  still  flowing  from  the  base  of  old  Sappho's 
ear  he  took  a  quid  of  tobacco  out  of  his  mouth  and  held  it 
there  for  some  little  time,  thus  trying  to  stay  the  flow 
of  blood.  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  seeing  how  deep 
the  cut  was  from  the  coon's  sharp  claws,  the  old  man's 
temper  got  the  advantage  of  him  and  he  cussed  a  blue 
streak,  for  the  old  fellow  loved  his  dogs  as  he  loved  his 
children  well  nigh,  and  maybe  you  can't  blame  him  so 
much,  as  there  was  no  law  in  old  Amos's  church  against 
"a  nigger's  cussin'  when  dat  dam'  coon  dun  tore  dat  dorg's 
year  mos'   off." 

"Is  any  ob  yuh  gemmem  got  yo'  watch?  What  time  is 
it,  Marster?" 

The  watches  had  all  been  left  on  the  dressing  tables  at 


The  Old  Plantation.  153 

home.  The  old  negro  said,  however,  "he  couldn't  see 
de  seben  stars  nor  de  pinters,  but  he  fa'rly  'no'd  it  was 
dun  past  midnite  and  we  bettur  be  gittin'  to'rds  home." 
So  the  old  man  whistled  to  his  dogs — too  badly  done  up 
for  any  more  coons  that  night — and  the  party  made  their 
way  home,  George  in  the  lead,  with  the  coon  swung  over 
his  shoulder.  As  they  neared  the  quarter  the  old  darky 
continued  his  astronomical  observations,  as  they  were  now 
out  of  the  thick  forest  and  he  could  see  the  sky.  When 
he  found  "de  seben  stars  an'  de  pinter,"  he  said,  "it  was 
gwine  hard  on  to'rds  one  o'clock  perzacly."  And  the  old 
man  was  not  very  far  away  from  the  true  time. 

Doubtless,  kind  reader,  in  this  account  of  the  plantation 
coon  hunt,  you  have  been  pained,  as  the  writer  has  been, 
at  the  old  man's  apparent  profanity.  But,  in  very  truth, 
when  reduced  to  its  last  analysis  there  was  no  profanity 
about  it.  He  never  employed  the  name  of  the  Deity.  In 
its  use  the  average  plantation  servant  was  as  religiously 
reverent  as  the  strictest  Hebrew  ever  was.  Even  had  he 
been  guilty  of  the  charge,  in  common  charity  may  we  not 
regard  old  Amos's  weakness  as  Lawrance  Sterne  did  that 
of  Uncle  Toby  when  he  swore;  of  whose  oath  Sterne  says 
so  beautifully,  "The  accusing  angel,  as  he  flew  up  to 
heaven's  chancery  with  the  oath,  blushed  as  he  gave  it 
in ;  and  the  recording  angel,  as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropped 
a  tear  on  the  oath  and  blotted  it  out  forever."  Let  us 
hope  so,  and  see  what  that  bright  light  in  Granddaddy 
Cain's  house  means  at  this  unusual  hour.  Marse  John 
said  to  Uncle  Amos: 

"I  am  afraid  the  old  man  must  be  sick;  we  will  go  by 
and  see  what's  the  matter." 

As  they  drew  near  the  old  man's  house  they  heard  a 
voice;  and  presently,  close  by  now,  they  recognized  it  as 
the  voice  of  one  engaged  in  prayer.  Eeverently  they 
paused  at  the  door  and  listened  as  this  devout  patriarch 
of  the  plantation,  the  head  of  all  the  Methodist  servants 
on  the  estate,  was  pouring  his  heart  out  in  prayer  at 
the  foot  of  the  throne  of  grace.  He  was  praying  with 
great  earnestness,  with  none  other  awake  in  his  house 
than  his  faithful  wife,  Aunt  Phyllis.     Waxing  warmer 


154  The  Old  Plantation.  ^ 

and  rising  higher  in  his  tide  of  devotions,  the  old  man 
invoked  the  Divine  blessing  on  "Ole  Marster,  old  Mis- 
tiss,  Marse  John,  Marse  Jeems,  Mis'  Caroline  an'  all  de 
white  fokeses  at  the  grate  house,  an'  all  de  niggers  on  de 
plantation;  an'  mak'  dem  rascals  quit  stealin'  chickens 
and  turkeys  ob  nites."  Finally,  waxing  very  warm,  he 
asked,  "de  Heb'nly  Father,  pleas',  suh,  to  hab  murcy  on 
po'  ole  Cain,  fo'  he  wus  tired,  mi'ty  tired  ob  m'iling  and 
t'iling  here  below.  Pleas',  suh,  to  sen'  de  angel  Gabrul 
down  an'  take  'im  home  to  glory." 

Marse  John,  in  a  fit  of  innate  badness,  could  not  stand 
this  any  longer,  and,  thinking  to  put  the  old  darky's 
spiritual  condition  and  sincerity  to  the  sharpest  possible 
test,  rapped  loudly  on  the  door. 

Kap !  rap !  rap  ! 

"Who  dere?"  the  old  man  anxiously  inquired,  still 
on  his  knees. 

"The  angel  of  the  Lord,  come  after  Cain,"  in  the  most 
sepulchral  tone  possible,  said  Marse  John. 

"Cain;  come  arter  Cain?  (Phyllis,  put  out  dat  lite, 
ole  'oman,  mi'ty  quick.)  He  ain't  been  heah,  suh,  fo'  free 
weeks;  he  dun  gone  (throwing  himself  with  great  violence 
well  under  the  bed)  he  done  gone,  Marse  Angel;  ole  Mars- 
ter sent  de  rascal  down  to  Wilmington  wid  a  lode  ob  bacon 
an'  he  dun  run  away,  an'  he  in  de  Holly  Shelter  Pocoson, 
Marse  Angel,  rite  now. —  (Lie  mi'ty  low,  Phyllis,  an' 
doan'  say  not'in'  nohow),"  almost  in  a  whisper. 

The  old  man  was  frightened  almost  out  of  his  wits. 
As  the  mischievous  party  turned  away  from  the  old  man's 
house  and  were  now  well  out  of  ear  shot,  old  Amos  spoke 
up: 

"Marse  John,  dese  heah  Mefodis  niggers  falls  from 
grace  monstus  quick,  dosn't  dey?  Dase  got  none  ob  de 
old-fashun'  Baptist  'ligen  or  de  parsavarince  ob  de  saints 
ob  de  Lord." 

At  his  own  quarters  Marse  John  found  that  the  other 
members  of  the  party  were  already  discussing  an  ample 
supply  of  cold  ham  and  beaten  biscuit,  well  buttered,  and 
such  other  good  things  as  made  up  a  most  comfortable 
supper  for  all  the  party,  including  the  servants,  who  in 


The  Old  Plantation  J  155 

their  turn  ate  heartily,  all  showing  clearly  that  an  old- 
fashioned  plantation  coon  hnnt  served  the  double  purpose 
of  plenty  of  fun  and  whetting  the  appetite.  My  sakes! 
how  Buck  and  all  the  other  servants  did  eat,  while  the 
dogs,  Boss  and  Sappho,  enjoyed  the  scraps.  Ah,  those 
blessed  old  plantation  days — we  ne'er  shall  see  their  like 
again. 


156  The  Old  Plantation, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Well,  well,  the  visit  of  these  charming  young  people 
at  the  old  plantation  was  now  over.  Comparative  quiet 
now  obtained  where  for  the  past  few  weeks  that  form  of 
sweet  pleasure  alone  known  to  youth  had  held  joyous 
sway.  They  all  realized,  in  the  rapid  flight  of  time, 
how  truly  Robert  Burns  had  said: 

"Pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread; 
We  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed; 
Or,  like  the  snowflake  on  the  river, 
A  moment  white,  then  gone  forever ; 
Or,  like  the  fitful  borealis  race, 
That  flits  ere  you  can  point  the  place; 
Or  like  the  rainbow,  evanishing  amid  the  storm/N 
No  man  can  tether  time  or  tide, 
The  time  has  come  and  Tarn  maun  ride." 

Well  off  to  Princeton,  to  Chapel  Hill,  to  St.  Mary's, 
Raleigh,  these  young  people  go ;  not  leaving  as  they  came, 
however,  for  that  sly  little  god,  Cupid,  had  been  indus- 
triously engaged,  and  from  his  bow  enwrapped  with  flowers 
had  sent  many  a  dart  with  quivering  accuracy  to  the 
heart.  Well,  thus  has  it  ever  been  and  thus  will  it  ever 
be  to  the  end  of  the  chapter  of  time.     Amen.     So  be  it. 

The  institutions  of  learning  at  the  South  have  under- 
gone many  changes.  Many  of  them  in  the  late  forties  and 
early  fifties  were  far,  very  far,  from  lacking  very  many 
things  to  recommend  them.  When  one  takes  into  consider- 
ation the  fact  that  institutions  of  learning  in  Georgia, 
South  Carolina,  and  other  parts  of  the  South,  were  of  so 


The  Old  Plantation?  157 

EigK  a  grade  that  such  of  her  distinguished  sons  as  Alex- 
ander Stephens  and  Benjamin  Hill  of  Georgia,  Wade 
Hampton  of  South  Carolina,  the  Breckenridges,  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  many  others  whom  it  were  tedious  to  mention, 
were  outfitted  for  the  distinguished  usefulness  they 
achieved,  what  conclusion  do  we  reach?  None  other  than 
this — that  the  wealth  of  the  South  (and  at  that  time  the 
nation's  wealth  was  at  the  South)  demanded  the  best  of 
everything  in  the  markets  of  the  world. 

In  the  world  of  fashion,  Paris,  through  New  Orleans, 
was  tributary  to  the  South.  It  is  said  that  some  of  the 
wealthy  people  of  Louisiana  were  careful  to  send  regularly 
their  most  particular  and  expensive  laundry  work  to  Paris. 
If  it  be  true  that  this  was  the  rule  in  regard  to  the  outfit- 
ting of  the  body,  we  are  quite  sure  that  North  Carolina,  in 
common  with  Virginia  and  the  other  Southern  States, 
held  within  their  border  institutions  of  learning — male 
and  female — preparatory  schools,  colleges  and  universities, 
which  proved  the  nursing  mothers  of  both  men  and  women 
largely  influential  at  home  and  abroad.  We  know  that  this 
was  so  in  North  Carolina  for  years  before  the  war  and, 
thanks  to  God,  the  old  State,  after  a  long,  dark  inter- 
regnum, is  coming  to  her  own  again,  and  we  believe  this 
is  so  in  the  South  generally. 

The  writer  is  free  to  admit  that  the  practical  working 
of  our  system  of  labor  at  the  South  served  to  keep  the 
extremes  of  our  population  far  apart.  It  was  a  long,  long 
way  socially  from  the  front  piazza  of  the  planter  to  the 
cabin  door  of  either  the  overseer  or  the  "poor  white  trash" 
element. 

Practically,  before  the  war  we  had  no  yeomanry;  and 
in  this  condition  lay  our  greatest  weakness — compensated, 
however,  by  so  many  advantages  under  the  old  regime  as 
more  than  condoned  that  weak  thread  in  our  social  or- 
ganism. In  this  cluster  of  preparatory  schools  for  the  uni- 
versity, as  well  as  in  the  number  and  high  character  of 
her  smaller  colleges — but  more  expressly  in  the  university, 
we  have  the  secret  of  the  State's  wealth  in  great  men; 
while  for  the  perpetuation  of  that  noble  race  mothers  were 
educated,  and  well  educated — not  out  of  any  of  the  gentle 


158  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  influential  femininities  of  the  sex — as  well  by  the 
Baptist  at  Murfreesboro,  the  Methodist  at  Greensboro, 
the  Presbyterian  at  Hillsboro  and  Charlotte,  the  Moravians 
at  Salem,  as  by  the  Episcopalian  at  St.  Mary's,  Kaleigh. 
These  institutions,  in  those  blessed  good  old  days,  were 
both  the  pride  of  and  the  bulwark  of  the  State,  and 
served  to  produce  that  fine  type  of  character  which  made 
citizenship  in  this  State  abound  in  all  the  finer  forms  of 
conservatism.  In  the  markets  of  the  world  the  State 
credit  was  equal  to  the  best  in  this  country;  while  her 
merchants  were  able  to  buy  what  they  pleased  in  New  York, 
and  on  such  terms  as  they  might  elect.  The  healthful 
interblending  of  the  Scotch-Irish  blood  of  the  Piedmont 
and  western  counties  with  that  of  the  Cavalier  and  Hugue- 
not of  the  more  eastern  and  coastal  section,  had  prepared 
a  race  of  men  whose  high  courage  and  devotion  in  the  army 
of  Northern  Virginia  later  on  has  never  been  surpassed  in 
the  annals  of  our  race.  The  religious  life  of  the  people, 
happily  fostered  at  her  schools,  had  very  much  to  do  with 
this  result. 

The  writer  can  speak  in  none  other  than  a  general  way 
of  any  of  these  schools  except  Mr.  Bingham's  school  for 
boys,  then  taught  in  Orange  County,  some  twelve  miles 
from  Hillsboro;  of  St.  Mary's  school,  Raleigh;  and  of  the 
university  at  Chapel  Hill.  They  were  all  three  exception- 
ally fine  institutions,  and  naturally  enough  so,  as  they 
enjoyed  many  marked  advantages. 

The  South  at  this  time  was  at  the  very  zenith  of  her 
prosperity,  coming  from  her  great  wealth.  In  those  days 
it  was  not  an  unusual  condition  of  affairs  that  at  the  same 
time  and  from  the  same  family  the  daughter  should  be 
at  St.  Mary's,  the  elder  brother  at  Chapel  Hill,  and  the 
younger  boy  at  Mr.  Bingham's  school.  Thus,  in  some 
sense,  these  three  institutions  seemed  to  have  gone  together, 
drawing  their  patronage  from  the  same  families  between 
the  Potomac  and  the  Rio  Grande. 

At  no  institution  in  this  country  (not  even  excepting 
the  famous  boy  school  in  Concord,  New  Hampshire;  and 
we  doubt  whether  we  ought  to  except  Rugby,  England, 
in  Tom  Brown's  days),  in  the  last  fifteen  years  before  the 


The  Old  Plantation.  159 

war,  was  there  annually  assembled  a  finer  body  of  youtH 
than  that  over  which  William  I.  Bingham,  the  second, 
presided.  It  has  been  a  half  century  since  I  looked  in  his 
fine  old  face,  but  I  warm  up  and  grow  younger  when  I 
think  of  him.  What  splendid  boys  this  noble  old  teacher 
numbered  among  his  pupils.  When  I  shut  my  eyes  and 
call  their  names,  flushed  with  young  life  and  its  joyous  an- 
ticipations, I  can  almost  hear  the  ringing  laughter  of  the 
brilliant  Davy  Hall  of  Warrenton,  of  that  born  Chester- 
field, William  Hunt  Hall  of  Wilmington;  of  that  singu- 
larly handsome  boy,  James  B.  Hughes  of  New  Berne ;  and 
of  Henry  Cobb  of  Alabama.  Yes,  I  can  see  the  manly 
forms  of  the  Merritts;  that  born  linguist  of  Chatham 
county,  Sam  Jackson ;  and  am  prepared  for  all  the  mischief 
of  Parsley  of  Wilmington  and  many  others  just  as  attrac- 
tive, most  of  whom  went  with  me  from  this  school  to 
Chapel  Hill,  while  many  of  them  have  passed  over  the  river 
just  a  little  way  ahead  of  me,  where  I  trust  we  may  all 
meet  dear  "Old  Bill,"  as  we  then  called  Mr.  Bingham, 
that  nonpareil,  that  prince  of  American  teachers. 

And  what  shall  be  said  of  dear  old  Chapel  Hill,  with 
Governor  Swain  as  president;  the  Messrs.  Phillips  and 
Professor  Fetter,  Dr.  Shipp,  the  scholarly  Hubbard,  the 
amiable  Wheat,  the  faithful  Brown,  the  loving  young 
Battle,  a  tutor  full  of  rich  promise,  so  faithfully  kept  in 
lifelong  usefulness  to  his  alma  mater  and  to  his  State; 
that  miracle  of  men,  in  his  vast  learning,  Dr.  Mitchell; 
with  that  embodiment  of  high  character  and  consecrated 
talent,  Judge  Battle?  Old  Chapel  Hill  boy  of  the  early 
fifties !  Shut  your  eyes  and  hear  the  old  college  bell,  while 
you  think  tenderly  of  Walker  Meares,  Jimmie  Wright, 
John  Holmes,  Henry  Bryan,  Baldy  Capehart,  Alfred 
Waddell,  Eufus  Paterson,  Tom  Settle,  Zeb  Vance,  Jimmie 
Wilson,  Gideon  Pillow,  Hunter  Nicholson,  that  sweet- 
hearted  boy,  as  handsome  as  an  Apollo,  Ivy  Foreman 
Lewis,  John  Swann  Moore,  and  "Button"  Battle ;  with  that 
youth  that  never  had  a  fair  fight  with  the  devil  in  his  life, 
but  who  was  born  good,  Dick  Battle;  Dick  Henderson, 
Fred  Hill,  Horace  Lacy  and  Dick  Yarboro.  Then  tell  me 
if  you  and  I  did  not  have  royal  companions  in  those  days  I 


l6o  The  Old  Plantation. 

Do  you  wonder  that  "Ole  Bunk,"  in  his  tender,  watch- 
ful guardianship  over  that  band  of  splendid  boys,  showed 
the  whole  South  that  he  bore  the  university  a  far  reaching 
love  which  only  death  itself  could  reach?  His  charge, 
embracing  during  his  long  term  of  office  many  of  the 
noblest  young  men  of  the  South,  was  indeed  a  grand  one; 
and  right  nobly  did  he  and  the  whole  faculty  perform  their 
loving  duties.  Their  fidelity  to  high  trust  was  such  that 
in  elevating  the  standard  of  citizenship  in  the  common- 
wealth and  elsewhere  in  the  South  they  lessened  the  duties 
of  those  who  have  succeeded  them.  Messrs.  Battle,  Winston 
and  Alderman,  as  presidents  of  the  university,  have  all 
gratefully  felt  that  these  educators  stimulated  them  to 
such  alacrity  and  marked  ability  as  have  spread  abroad 
the  high  fame  of  this  great  institution.  Esto  perpetual 
Esto  perpetua  longissime. 

Turning  now  to  another  institution,  let  us  attend  a  com- 
mencement of  St.  Mary's  in  that  golden  era  of  her  high 
prosperity  under  the  elder  Smedes,  who,  faithful  unto 
death,  through  a  long  life  of  such  high  function  as  one  of 
the  great  teachers  of  the  land,  has  made  his  name  a  house- 
hold word  in  many  houses  of  the  South,  even  as  far  away 
as  the  Eio  Grande.  This  is  Commencement  week  at  St. 
Mary's,  and  those  carriages  filled  with  youths  are  just 
down  from  the  Commencement  at  Chapel  Hill.  These 
young  gentlemen,  en  route  home  from  the  university,  have 
stopped  over — some  to  witness  the  graduation  of  their 
sisters  and  sweethearts,  others  to  have  a  good  time  gener- 
ally. June  is  here  in  all  her  leafy  pride  and  the  city  of 
Raleigh  is  out  in  full  force,  with  her  beautiful  daughters 
and  chivalric  sons.  Wilmington,  ISTew  Berne,  Edenton, 
Washington,  Fayetteville,  Charlotte — in  fact  nearly  all  of 
the  larger  towns  and  most  of  the  counties  of  the  State  are 
here  represented,  as  well  in  the  young  ladies  of  the  school 
as  in  the  many  s^iests.  It  is  indeed  a  "red  letter  day"  in 
the  history  of  St.  Mary's.  In  that  large  parlor,  perhaps 
the  largest,  and  certainly  among  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
whole  South,  what  an  assemblage  of  beautiful  maidens  and 
handsome  young  men?  What  soft,  sweet  voices  these 
Southern  girls  have,  and  what  marked  proprieties  of  dress. 


The  Old  Plantation,  161 

you  must  observe  among  them;  also  how  modest  their 
bearing,  and  the  absence  of  anything  like  boisterous  or 
bantering  demeanor.  Not  a  single  touch  or  taint  of  a 
hoyden  among  them  all.  Of  home  refinement  and 
delicacy  of  the  old  plantation  life,  what  living  and  loving 
epistles  are  these  Southern  girls !  How  proud  is  their  old 
bishop  (Atkinson)  of  them  all — his  dear  children,  most 
of  whom  he  has  confirmed — you  may  see,  as  his  loving  eye 
lights  up  with  admiration  of  those  three  lovely,  tidewater 
girls  who  glide  along  over  the  stage  to  their  places  at  the 
piano,  harp  and  guitar !  What  poetry  of  motion  in  the 
carriage  and  walk  of  the  ante-bellum  Southern  girls 
in  those  blessed  days  when  the  young  men  did  not  part 
their  hair  in  the  middle,  and  when  no  bicycles  had  ruined 
the  grace  of  woman's  attractive  movement.  How  broad 
and  full  the  course  of  study  in  this  school,  the  admirable 
essays,  read  so  modestly  and  effectively  by  the  young 
ladies,  set  forth,  as  the  noble  face  of  Dr.  Smedes  lights 
up  with  pleasure  at  some  singularly  fine  sentence  in  her 
salutatory  falling  from  the  lips  of  that  fair  graduate 
from  Georgia;  or  as  further  on  in  the  exercises  the  vale- 
dictorian moves  many  of  a  large  audience  to  tears  when 
with  faltering  voice  she  says  farewell  to  dear  old  St. 
Mary's  forever.  Had  the  present  writer  a  million  of 
dollars  a  minute  for  one  short  half  hour  (now  that  in 
the  breaking  up  of  the  old  plantation  life  the  Southern 
wealth  has  gone),  five  millions  should  go  to  the  endow- 
ment of  Chapel  Hill,  five  millions  should  go  to  the 
building  of  St.  Mary's,  and  five  millions  should  be  spent 
in  establishing  a  large  preparatory  school,  on  the  same 
plan  as  that  of  the  Bingham  school  in  the  fifties,  giv- 
ing to  every  one  of  the  Southern  States  scholarships  in 
each  of  these  splendid  institutions.  And  yet  it  may  be 
that  these  schools,  in  common  with  Davidson  College, 
Wake  Forest,  and  all  the  other  schools  of  our  Southland 
contending  with  poverty,  may  in  the  end  demonstrate 
the  fact  that  the  most  influential  of  all  endowments  is 
fine  Christian  character,  allied  to  that  broad  and  deep 
scholarship  which  the  Southern  educators  are  now  bring- 


1 62  The  Old  Plantation. 

ing  to  our  institutions  of  learning  from  the  Susquehanna 
to  the  western  verge  of  Texas. 

When  one  pauses  long  enough  in  these  days  of  hurry 
and  worry  to  give  the  subject  the  thought  to  which  it  is 
entitled,  by  virtue  of  its  importance  in  the  past  to  the 
South' s  record,  no  class  of  her  devoted  children  is  more 
entitled  to  a  grateful  recognition  than  such  as  have  al- 
ready been  mentioned  among  the  educators  of  the  land. 
To  them,  among  many  others,  the  names  of  Deems, 
Horner,  Wilson,  Graves,  John  Bingham,  Sprunt  and  Kob- 
inson  should  be  added,  as  those  whose  lives  are  perpetu- 
ating themselves  in  the  great  usefulness  of  their  pupils, 
their  children,  and  their  successors  in  high  office.  High 
office  it  is.  Aristotle  and  Socrates  were  great  teachers, 
and  yet  it  was  left  to  the  great  Nazarene  himself  to  illus- 
trate the  fact  that  he  who  taught  most  industriously,  with 
the  highest  standards  always  before  his  eyes,  preached 
most  effectively. 

The  writer  could  scarcely  have  said  less  than  he  has 
said  in  giving  anything  like  an  adequate  knowledge  of 
the  schools  to  which  the  Southern  boys  and  girls  were 
sent  from  their  plantation  homes,  in  the  good  old  days 
before  the  floods  of  1861  and  '65.  These  schools,  in  the 
high  character  of  the  great  teachers  of  the  South,  ac- 
count for  the  remarkable  influence  of  her  people  for  so 
many  years,  actually  shaping  the  policy  of  the  Govern- 
ment for  more  than  three-quarters  of  a  century  in  affairs 
of  the  republic.  Their  power  was  only  broken  under  the 
benumbing  influence  of  the  French  devolution,  so  pro- 
longed as  to  reach  from  Paris  to  Fanueil  Hall,  Boston, 
ushering  in  that  form  of  popular  contempt  i6v  authority 
which  has  swept  away  the  Constitution,  having  employed 
^Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  as  its  a  rant  coureur. 

It  will  not  be  forgotten  that  these  pictures  of  Southern 
plantation  life  were  to  be  seen  in  all  the  Southern  States, 
prior  to  the  war,  as  well  in  Maryland  as  in  Texas.  The 
writer  portrays  those  in  North  Carolina,  not  because  they 
were  exceptional,  but  because  be  can  speak  of  these  more 
understandingly.  The  early  fifties  at  the  South  was  an 
era  of  high  standards.     Her  prosperity  was  never  greater. 


The  Old  Plantation.  163 

The  wisdom  of  her  statesmen  had  been  vindicated,  in  the 
popular  judgment,  by  the  annexation  of  Texas  and  the 
acquisition  of  California.  All  over  the  South,  at  that 
time,  the  public  men  were  of  such  high  character  and  were 
possessed  of  ability  so  very  marked  as  to  show  that  Cal- 
houn, Clay,  Benton,  King,  Gaston  and  Reeves  had  left 
their  impress  on  that  age. 

In  North  Carolina  our  young  men  were  animated  by 
the  example  of  a  singularly  strong  band  of  distinguished 
men.  In  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  were  Messrs. 
Badger,  Mangum  and  Haywood,  succeeded  by  such  men 
as  Bragg,  Clingman,  and  others  scarcely  less  distin- 
guished. In  the  House  of  Eepresentatives  were  McCoy, 
Donnell,  Ashe,  Outlaw,  Bryan,  Craige  and  Ruffin,  all 
of  whom  showed  clearly  that  Mr.  Macon's  influence  over 
the  State  had  never  died  out.  On  the  Bench  of  the 
Supreme  Court  were  the  elder  Ruffin,  Pearson  and  Bat- 
tle ;  while  on  the  Circuit  Court  Bench  were  such  pure  jur- 
ists as  Caldwell,  Bailey,  Person,  Shepherd,  Settle,  Manley, 
Dick,  Saunders  and  Ellis,  all  of  whom  served  to  main- 
tain the  high  standard  of  judicial  purity  and  ability  erected 
by  Henderson,  Murphey,  Daniels  and  others.  Such  men 
as  Gales,  Holden,  Hale,  Fulton  and  others,  maintaining 
the  high  rank  of  journalism  in  the  State,  with  a  singularly 
able  and  pure  body  of  clergymen  presiding  over  the 
different  churches  of  the  commonwealth,  were  the  in- 
fluential forces  actively  at  work,  in  cooperation  with 
t  the  marked  purity  of  home  life  from  Cherokee  to  Curri- 
i  tuck,  in  investing  the  State  with  that  power  which  she 
showed  all  through  her  history,  and  notably  so  from  1861 
to  '65.  No  wonder  that  when  their  old  mother's  honor 
was  assailed  such  men  as  her  peerless  Vance  and  her  in- 
trepid band  of  distinguished  sons  should  have  rushed  to 
the  rescue,  followed  by  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
;  thousand  patriots,  espousing  her  fortune  for  weal  or  woe 
;  from  Bethel  to  Appomattox.  This  faintly  outlined  con? 
dition  of  the  South  in  the  decade  just  before  the  war  be- 
|:  tween  the  States  was  the  fine  fruitage  of  her  social  forces 
;  in  active  play  from  the  old  plantation  life.  She  was  at 
the  acme  of  her  glory  then,  and  certainly  in  many  respects. 


164  The  Old  Plantation. 

Christendom  has  never  equaled  it.  In  our  subsequent 
history  we  can  hope  for  no  parallel — in  its  high-typed 
golden-hearted  manliness;  in  its  gentle,  refined  and  cul- 
tured womanhood;  in  its  freedom  from  the  prurient 
forces  of  that  materialism  which  measures  men,  not  by 
what  they  are  so  much  as  by  their  pecuniary  successes  al- 
together. From  its  fine  products  we  must,  indeed,  char- 
acterize it  as  a  bright  era  in  the  history  of  our  civiliza- 
tion. It  was  about  to  die.  Like  the  dying  dolphin,  which 
puts  forth  its  most  beautiful  coloring  as  it  gasps  out  its 
life  on  the  whitened  sands  of  the  seaside,  so  the  old  South 
was  never  so  fair  nor  so  dear  to  her  children  as  during 
the  last  decade  of  her  existence,  from  1855  on  to  the 
close. 

We  have  glanced  at  the  schools  and  colleges  of  the 
South,  and  have  seen  how  admirably  they  served  the  high 
purposes  for  which  they  had  been  called  into  life,  by 
the  wealth  and  culture  of  the  old  plantation  regime.  It 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  while  the  North  centered  all 
of  her  finest  energies  along  the  lines  of  commerce  and 
manufactures,  the  South,  up  to  the  great  upheaval,  con- 
tinued an  agricultural  people  (with  her  great  wealth  and 
consequently  her  strength)  on  her  large  landed  estates. 


The  Old  Plantation.  165 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

To  the  Southern  people  many  and  varied  were  the 
sources  of  relaxation  and  amusement.  We  have  indi- 
cated some  of  the  home  modes  of  innocent  enjoyment  on 
these  pages.  Few  people  ever  made  more  of  or  derived 
more  pure  pleasure  from  the  celebration  of  marriage  than 
did  our  fathers  and  mothers,  in  their  old-fashioned,  home 
kept  weddings.  To  the  bridal  couples  of  that  era  there 
were  no  limited  express  railroad  trains,  taking  them  with 
lightning  speed  out  of  touch  with  the  loved  ones  at  home. 
This  was  the  bright  reign  of  home  weddings  among  home 
people,  with  the  joyousness  of  home  customs  and  the  sun- 
light of  home  glorified  upon  everything.  After  charming 
hospitalities  at  the  home  of  the  bride  (where  the  guests, 
sometimes  from  a  hundred  miles  or  more  away,  were  en- 
tertained) the  bridegroom's  family  called  all  the  guests 
to  his  home.  Then  the  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen 
claimed  their  privilege  of  entertaining.  Thus  was  it  that 
one  marriage  often  called  for  a  half  dozen  or  more  beau- 
tiful parties.  Thus  was  it,  also,  that  one  wedding  led  up 
to  other  weddings.  One  can  quite  understand  the  social 
conditions,  where  these  old-fashioned  English  customs  had 
obtained  from  the  early  settlement  of  the  country.  What 
strong  reason  had  these  people  for  loving  their  homes, 
the  lares  and  penates  of  which  had  felt  no  touch  or  taint 
of  commercialism,  and  who  were  strangers  to  the  rude 
shocks  given  the  divine  institution  of  marriage  by  the 
modern  appliances  of  divorce  whose  fearful  driving  wheels 
are  centered  in  the  clubhouse.    In  those  better  davs  of 


1 66  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  republic,  freed  largely  from  cosmopolitan  evil,  the 
present  writer  remembers  well  the  widespread  interest 
and  regret  over  the  first  notable  suit  for  divorce  among 
the  very  best  people  of  Virginia  and  Maryland — how  it 
was  discussed  and  how  sharply  reprobated.  Alas,  alas, 
what  changes  have  come  with  Worth  gowns  from  Paris 
and  the  customs  loaned  us  (in  questionable  kindness)  from 
Gotham,  time  is  sadly  revealing.  In  those  days  it  was 
not  unusual  for  parties  of  young  people,  properly  chaper- 
oned, to  spend  some  weeks  of  the  winter  season  of  gayety 
in  New  Orleans,  at  the  old  St.  Charles  and  St.  Louis 
hotels.  The  time  ordinarily  selected  was  just  before  the 
Lenten  season  set  in,  when  the  charming  population  of 
that  delightful  city,  French  and  Creoles,  were  at  the 
heyday  of  enjoyment  in  the  carnival  season.  The  re- 
turn home  was  made  generally  by  the  Mississippi  Eiver, 
whose  floating  palaces  were  singularly  attractive.  In  the 
summer  time  the  wealth  of  the  South  enabled  many  of 
its  best  people,  old  and  young,  to  repair  to  Saratoga 
Springs  and  elsewhere  North.  The  seaside  resort  at 
Cape  May  was  then  very  popular ;  nor  was  old  Point  Com- 
fort less  so,  as  there  had  been  no  development  of  any  kind, 
good  or  bad,  at  Narragansett  Pier  or  Newport.  Modern 
millionairism  at  that  time  had  not  rendered  possible  such 
a  social  evolution  as  the  "Four  Hundred"  of  New  York, 
that  sickly  product  of  the  distempered  conditions  of  the 
post-bellum  congestion  of  wealth  and  morals — of  mascu- 
line women  and  effeminate  men. 

In  our  portion  of  the  old  South  there  were  two  occasions 
of  marked  interest  to  plantation  people.  These  were  our 
agricultural  fairs  and  the  sessions  of  our  State  Legis- 
lature. In  the  summer  months  there  had  been  an  inter- 
change of  charming  acquaintance  among  the  several  sec- 
tions of  the  State.  Some  of  the  Tidewater  people  went 
in  their  own  carriages,  in  quest  of  health  and  pleasure, 
as  far  as  the  charming  resorts  along  the  French  Broad 
Eiver,  and  elsewhere  across  the  mountains  in  western 
North  Carolina.  Others  again  found  all  they  desired  near 
home  at  Nag's  Head  or  at  Beaufort.  Harbor.  There  was 
no  Morehead  City  in  those  days.     A  larger  number  still 


The  Old  Plantation.  167 

either  occupied  their  summer  homes,  in  the  healthy  sec- 
tions of  Moore  and  Chatham,  or  went  to  the  charming 
resorts  in  the  famous  old  County  of  Warren,  known  in 
the  parlance  of  that  day,  as  Jones*    Springs    and    Old 
Shocco  Springs.     The  writer,  as  a   university   man,    and 
as  a  young  lawyer,  had  enjoyed  social  life  at  Saratoga 
and  the  Greenbrier  White  Sulphur — had  tested  the  soft 
crabs  and  other  good  things  at  the  height  of  the  season 
at  Old  Point  Comfort  and  Cape  May— and  he  is  free  to 
say  that  all  this,  of  its  kind,  was  very  fine  and  enjoyable. 
At  the  same  time,  let  these  young  Southern  readers  know 
the  fact  that  nowhere  in  the  world,  in  the  judgment  of 
the  writer,  did  the  old  plantation  element  feel  itself  quite 
as  much  at  home  as  at  Jones'  and  Old  Shocco  Springs. 
And  this   is   so  for  these  reasons — here  the   plantation 
element,  from  the  Albemarle  and  Pamplico  sections  of  the 
State,  with  large  wealth  and  high  culture,  from  weight 
of  numbers  and  social  position,  had  the  controlling  in- 
fluence.    These  resorts  had  been  frequented  by  the  same 
families,  in  many  cases,  for  more  than  one  generation. 
And  then,  in  those  days,  the  County  of  Warren,  with  its 
great  wealth  and  fine  society,  was  the  special  habitat  of 
the  old-time  Southerner.     In  its  palmiest  days  it  is  said 
to  have  had,  on  the  whole,  the  finest  estates,  the  best  bred 
horses,  the  purest  breeds  of  "Alston- Greys"  and  "Cotton 
Beds"  (game  chickens),  the  largest  gardens  for  both  flow- 
ers and  vegetables,  with  the  most  luxuriant  mint  beds  in 
the  whole   State.     Eegarding  its   higher  products,   some 
have  affirmed  that  the  men  of  old  Warren  were  singu- 
larly manly  and  its  women  exceedingly  beautiful.     Let 
it  be  observed,    however,    that    in    these    particulars   no 
county  or  section  throughout  the  whole  South  had  any 
monopoly.     This  much  the  writer  runs  no  risk  in  saying. 
Memory,  true  to  her  trust,  carries  him  back  to  one  of  the 
most  noted  of  all  the  seasons  at  Old  Shocco,  when  the 
large  and  fashionable  company  was  at  its  height.     The 
various  sections  of  the  State  were  represented  there,  as 
well  by  its  fine  young  men  as  by  its  beautiful  women.     It 
was   the   evening   of   the    "great   ball."     Eichmond   and 
Petersburg,  Virginia,  and  the  larger  towns  of  the  State 


1 68  The  Old  Plantation. 

were  out  in  full  force.  Old  Frank  Johnson's  (negro) 
string  band  furnished  the  music,  and  who  ever  heard  bet- 
ter dance  music  than  this?  It  is  said  that,  as  the  night 
wore  away,  this  remarkably  gifted  darky  has  often  been 
known  to  lose  consciousness  and  go  to  sleep,  yet  go  on 
calling  tho  figures  and  never  make  a  mistake.  The  floor 
was  full  of  couples  in  the  large,  double  quadrilles,  and 

"Bright  the  lamps  shone  on  fair  women  and  brave  men." 

It  so  happened  that  in  the  same  set  were  two  sisters 
from  the  neighboring  town  of  Warrenton,  and  the  lovely 

Miss from  Wilmington,  Miss from  Bertie  County, 

perhaps  the  most  beautiful  woman  North  Carolina  ever 

produced,    and   Miss from   Wilkesboro.     These   five 

were  the  most  strikingly  beautiful  Southern  girls  the 
writer  has  ever  seen  anywhere.  And  yet,  what  am  I 
talking  about?  What  is  the  difference  between  the  most 
beautiful  rose  in  the  flower  garden  of  Pensacola,  Florida, 
or  that  same  lovely  flower  found  in  Richmond,  Vir- 
ginia? One  star  may  differ  from  another  star  in  beauty, 
but  the  characteristic  loveliness  of  the  ante-bellum  plan- 
tation girls  was  so  marked  that  you  could  scarcely  note 
the  difference  between  its  fine  forms,  as  seen  all  over  North 
Carolina.  You  may  say  the  same  of  the  whole  South. 
Two  of  the  above  young  ladies  were  types  of  that  form 
of  beauty  in  the  delineation  of  which  dear  old  Sir  Walter 
Scott  seems  to  have  reveled  in  his  description  of  Brenda 
in  the  "Pirate,"  while  the  other  three  rej^resented  that 
order  of  loveliness  of  which  her  fair  sister,  Minna,  has 
ever  been  the  type.  But  what  is  the  use  of  stating  that 
which  everybody  knows  ?  The  beauty  of  Southern  girls  has 
passed  long  ago  into  a  proverb.  Our  Northern  friends 
love  to  come  down  to  Baltimore  and  witness  for  them- 
selves the  beauty  of  Southern  girls  on  Charles  street,  and 
hear  their  sweet  voices  in  the  mellow,  soft  accents  of  the 
Southern  plantation,  with  no  blight  or  blur  of  nasal 
catarrh  upon  it.  The  young  people  of  that  time  delighted 
in  attending  the  agricultural  fairs  in  Raleigh  in  those 
beautiful  days  of  October,  where  the  deep  interest  and 
healthful  emulation  in  the  plantation  products  brought 


The  Old  Plantation;  169 

many  of  the  most  successful  planters  together.  The  sweet 
hospitality  of  Raleigh,  then  scarcely  a  city,  together  with 
the  Yarboro  Hotel,  Guyon's,  and  the  City  Hotel  under  that 
perfection  of  a  host,  Captain  Lawrence,  added  largely  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  occasion.  In  those  days  the  fair  was 
not  regarded  as  over  until  the  young  people  had  enjoyed 
the  "Marshall's  Ball"  at  the  Yarboro  Hotel,  a  very  charm- 
ing function,  under  the  inspiration  of  old  Frank  John- 
son's music. 

In  those  days  Raleigh  was,  indeed,  a  most  charming 
city.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  when  such  distinguished 
sons  of  the  old  State  could  then  be  often  seen  on  the 
streets  as  ex-Governor  Charles  Manly,  ex-Governor  Wil- 
liam A.  Graham,  ex-Governor  Thomas  Bragg,  Judges 
Badger,  Battle,  Ruffin,  Saunders  and  Manly,  while  the 
Haywoods,  the  Bryans,  the  Johnstons,  the  Mordecais, 
the  Grimes,  the  Hines,  the  Cottons,  the  Camerons,  the 
Masons,  the  Devereux  and  many  others  kept  their  ances- 
tral position  in  society,  rather  by  what  they  were  than 
as  they  were  rated  by  the  tax  collector  ?  Ah,  me !  "Tem- 
pora  mutantur  et  nos  mutumur  in  Mis"  said  the  old  pagan. 
Without  employing  any  vain  regrets  or  indulging  any 
invidious  comparisons,  it  may  be  pardoned  an  old  man 
if  he  says  that  when  such  men  as  the  Moores,  the  Ashes, 
the  Daveses,  the  Waddells,  the  Hills,  the  Grahams,  the 
Collinses,  the  Davises  and  many  others  were  active  in  the 
State,  Citizenship,  as  worn  by  them  and  their  brilliant 
orators,  Hawkes,  Miller,  Joseph  Hill  and  Michael  Hoke, 
was  accounted  her  greatest  wealth  and  proudest  distinc- 
tion, rather  than  the  money  of  individuals  or  corporations. 
It  was  during  this  golden  era,  when  these  social  forces 
had  fully  crystallized  into  their  very  finest  forms,  that  the 
Legislature  was  in  session.  The  truly  representative  men 
of  the  State  were  members  of  that  body,  with  that  peer- 
less gentleman  and  distinguished  lawyer,  the  Honorable 
Richard  Speight  Donnell,  as  speaker.  Raleigh  was,  per- 
haps, never  so  enjoyable  as  at  that  time.  With  her  own 
citizens  at  their  best,  in  the  exercise  of  that  sweet  hos- 
pitality for  which  they  have  been  ever  so  strikingly  dis- 
tinguished, one  can  say  this  with  perfect  impunity.     You 


170  The  Old  Plantation.7 

may  be  quite  sure  that -such  young  gentlemen  as  James 
Allan  Wright  of  Wilmington,  William  Saunders,  Joseph 
A.  Englehard,  and  many  others  like  them,  were  in  the 
full  tide  of  enjoyment  of  that  city,  full  of  charming  stran- 
gers from  various  sections  of  the  State.  Party  after  party 
was  given  by  the  Manleys,  the  Haywoods,  the  Badgers 
the  Bryans,  and  others  equally  distinguished  for  social 
position.  With  its  beautiful  belles  and  its  striking  beaux, 
the  city  had  never  been  known  quite  so  gay. 

There  was  one  young  lady  about  to  make  her  entree 
into  society  and  to  signalize  this  important  event  in  her 
beautiful  young  life  her  father  and  mother  gave  a  very 
large  party.  Perhaps  it  was  the  most  noted  event  of  a 
very  notable  winter.  The  attendance  was  strikingly  large, 
embracing  some  of  the  creme  de  la  creme  of  the  State, 
for  these  proud  parents,  on  both  sides  of  the  house,  repre- 
sented two  of  the  most  distinguished  families  in  the  whole 
commonwealth.  When  the  whole  house  was  fully  ablaze 
with  light  and  the  old-fashioned  wax  candles,  in  untold 
numbers,  were  shedding  their  soft  kindly  rays  (the  mod- 
ern gas  or  electric  light  was  unknown  then)  over  the  large 
company,  surely  could  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh  have  walked 
in  with  Queen  Bess  on  his  arm  the  "virgin  queen"  would 
have  recognized  no  trace  of  degeneracy  in  the  beautiful 
women  and  handsome  men.  She  would  have  joyously  ex- 
claimed to  all  about  her,  "These  are  the  rich  products 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  civilization,  which  has  girdled  the 
world  with  life  and  light  and  beauty.  They  are  all  my 
children."  And  well  might  she  have  done  so,  for  passingly 
beautiful  was  the  rare  scene.  The  whole  night  passed 
as  joyously  as  that  of  a  belle  on  her  wedding  eve.  The 
distinguished  debutante  was  radiantly  beautiful,  moving 
about  among  her  delighted  guests  and  receiving  the  homage 
of  all  whom  she  blessed  with  her  smiles  as  does  the  light 
of  a  May  day  gladden  a  bank  of  roses.  Such  courtly 
gentlemen  as  Judge  Badger,  the  Lord  Falkland  of  the 
South,  and  others,  gladly  paid  her  homage,  and  one  may 
be  quite  sure  that  we  all  felt  proud  of  the  beautiful 

Miss .     Among  the  many  guests  there  was  one  who 

had  grown  gray  amid  similar  scenes,  but  had  never  mar- 


The  Old  Plantation^  J171 

ried.  An  enforced  celibate,  he  had  not  borne  his  lot  as 
gracefully  as  he  might  have  done,  but  unfortunately  had 
become  somewhat  embittered  as  Cupid  from  time  to  time 
turned  his  back  upon  him.  When  the  evening  was  at  its 
height  of  enjoyment  this  gentleman  commented,  rather 
in  a  loud  tone  of  voice,  upon  the  society  of  Ealeigh,  re- 
marking in  easy  earshot  of  a  group  of  the  most  charm- 
ing young  people  present: 

"Miss  Charlotte,  do  you  not  think  the  society  of  Raleigh 
this  winter  is  strikingly  characterized  by  the  extreme 
juvenility  of  the  beaux?" 

This  he  said  not  to  but  at  young  Wright,  who  was  as 
handsome  as  an  Apollo,  with  his  face  as  smooth  as  a 
girl's.  The  young  Wilmingtonian  turned  on  him,  his  fine 
face  flushed  with  suppressed  anger,  his  lip  wreathed  in 
disdain,  and  said  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice: 

"General  E ,  one  of  the  most  painful  commen- 
taries on  man's  relation  to  life  is  that  he  is  but  once  a 
man  and  twice  a  child." 

Ah,  well,  these  old  days  have  passed  away.  All  that  is 
left  of  them  is  for  the  most  part  sadly  reminiscent.  For- 
tunately, most  of  the  actors  in  those  charming  scenes  have 
passed  off  the  stage.  Few,  only  a  very  few  of  us  are  left 
to  chafe  under  the  unhappy  changes  which  a  hybrid  civi- 
lization has  brought  on.  Eating  no  dirt,  spitting  no 
fire,  we  still  hold  our  colors  firmly  in  our  hand,  and  are 
yet  enabled  to  cry  out : 

"Let  fate  do  her  worst;  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy." 


172  The  Old  Plantation. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

We  have  already  seen  on  these  pages  some  of  the 
amusements  of  the  old  Southerners.  We  have  witnessed  how 
readily  their  warm,  sunny  temperaments  expressed  them- 
selves, as  well  in  their  outdoor  sports  and  wiles  as  in  those 
around  their  hospitable  hearthstones.  Not  more  surely 
do  climate  and  soil  assert  themselves  in  forest,  field  and 
flower,  than  in  the  habits,  tastes  and  employments  of  those 
subjected  to  their  sway.  The  differentiations  between 
the  dwellers  along  our  Northern  lakes  and  those  of  our 
beautiful  Southland  are  largely  the  outcome  of  the  dif- 
ference in  climate.  After  all  is  said  and  done,  they  are 
far  less  racial  than  climatic.  Among  the  many  and  marked 
differences  between  civilized  nations,  it  is  a  blessed  fact 
that  there  is  one  event  in  their  history  which,  year  by 
year,  is  asserting  a  growing  influence  over  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  this  is 
the  birth  of  the  Nazarene,  the  Son  of  God. 

At  the  South  Christmas  has  ever  been  known  as  a 
season  of  blessed  rejoicing.  Among  the  people  of  the 
North,  until  the  past  two  or  three  decades,  their  Thanks- 
giving, with  puritan  imprimatur,  was  a  higher  feast 
than  that  of  the  Nativity.  This  grew  out  of  their  differ- 
ences in  religious  faith  and  training.  Now,  however, 
among  all  Christian  people,  there  seems  to  be  a  fixed  de- 
termination to  make  Christmas  the  one  great,  precious 
holiday,  not  only  of  the  nation,  but  of  the  world  as  well. 
At  the  South,  in  great  house  and  cabin,  for  generations 
it  has  been  the  season  above  all  others  full  of  mirth  and 


The  Old  Plantation.  173 

good  cheer.  Eesting  from  labor,  the  planter  and  his  serv- 
ants have  ever  enjoyed  it.  From  the  settlement  of 
Eoanoke  Island,  the  Bethlehem  story  has  made  its  influ- 
ence felt  wherever  the  Cavaliers  have  gone.  ISTor  have  the 
Huguenots  made  it  less  of  a  "red  letter  day"  than  the 
blessed  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  fully  entitled  it  to. 
On  the  old  plantation  the  planters  were  taught  at  this 
season  of  love  to  open  their  hearts  and  purses  to  every 
cry  of  sorrow  and  every  detail  of  distress.  His  Christian 
mother,  coming  from  old  England  or  the  southern  part 
of  France,  had  taught  him  to  remember  that  Judean  mid- 
night sky,  across  which  a  star  flashed  that  had  never  yet 
been  seen  on  shore  or  sea.  As  a  child,  the  old  planter  had 
asked  his  faithful  mother  to  tell  him  all  about  that  lovely 
manger,  wherein,  that  December  night,  the  Virgin  mother 
held  in  her  arms  that  babe,  above  whose  head  was  an  aure- 
ole and  in  whose  eyes  was  the  revelation  of  the  brother- 
hood of  man. 

On  the  plantation  in  the  old  South  no  sooner  was  the 
harvest  well  over  than  slow  yet  methodical  preparation 
for  Christmas  was  entered  upon.  The  fruits  of  the  earth 
gathered  in,  the  large  stores  of  animal  food  well  looked 
after,  the  planter  bent  his  energy  to  the  fattening  of  his 
bullocks  and  hogs.  The  butchering  season,  or  the  hog 
killing  time,  was  a  joyous  event  to  the  servants  on  the  es- 
tate. On  this  plantation  it  was  no  child's  play  to  pro- 
vide the  meat  rations  for  so  many  servants;  and  there 
were  no  vegetarians  among  them.  The  truth  is,  among 
men  the  rule  seems  to  be  that  the  lower  the  form  of  civi- 
lization the  more  meat  comsumed.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
about  the  twentieth  of  November  the  hogs  and  bullocks 
were  as  fat  as  they  could  roll,  and  "de  hog  killin' "  be- 
gan. The  salt  employed  in  curing  the  meat  in  those  days 
was  the  large  grain  Turk's  Island  article  which  was  well 
pounded  or  ground  by  being  beaten  in  long  wooden  troughs 
with  heavy  wooden  pestles.  This  to  the  young  servants 
was  a  great  frolic,  and  one  could  always  tell  when  the 
neighbors  were  butchering  by  the  noise  of  the  salt  pestles, 
which  could  be  heard  for  miles  on  a  clear,  cold  morn- 
ing.    In  order  that  there  should   be   no   loss   or   waste^ 


174  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  that  plenty  of  time  should  be  allowed  for  consuming 
the  "chines  and  the  chitterlings/'  the  hogs  were  not  all 
butchered  at  once,  but  with  an  interval  of  ten  days  or  two 
weeks  between  each  killing.  In  this  way  the  sausage, 
so  deliciously  seasoned  with  pot  herbs,  the  juicy  tender- 
loins, the  tempting  spareribs,  the  delicious  sweetbreads, 
and  perhaps  the  most  delicate  of  all,  the  brains  of  the  ani- 
mals— in  fine,  everything  coming  to  the  old  planter's  table 
at  this  season  of  the  year — made  up  a  breakfast  good 
enough  for  a  king.  The  young  servants  were  careful  to 
save  every  bladder  from  the  several  hundred  hogs,  which 
they  blew  up  with  their  own  hot  breath,  introduced  through 
a  joint  of  reed  inserted  in  the  neck,  and  which  after  being 
securely  tied  with  bits  cf  cotton  string,  were  hung  up  over 
the  fireplaces  in  their  cabins.  They  thus  supplied  them- 
selves abundantly  with  Christmas  guns,  exploding  them 
in  place  of  the  modern  firecracker,  during  this  high  festival. 

One  can  quite  understand  how  rapidly  passed  the  hours 
during  these  active  preparations  for  the  holidays.  The 
wagons  and  carts  for  days  beforehand  were  fully  employed 
in  hauling  an  ample  supply  of  well  seasoned  firewood 
from  the  new-ground  clearings  of  last  winter  to  the  wood 
pile  at  the  mansion  and  to  every  cabin  on  the  plantation. 
Indeed  it  was  suggestive  of  cheerful  warmth  and  comfort 
to  see  the  many  cords  of  oak,  hickory,  ash  and  blackjack 
brought  in  at  this  time.  The  mill  wagon,  or  carry-log, 
was  used  to  bring  in  from  the  turpentine  orchards  large 
logs  of  seasoned  pine  or  light  wood,  to  be  sawed  up  and 
split  for  the  cheerful  fires,  so  essential  to  a  well  kept 
Christmas.  The  market  wagons  were  now  brought  into  use. 
Well  laden  with  barrels  of  lard,  turkeys,  ducks,  geese  and 
other  poultry,  eggs,  butter,  roasting  pigs  (with  shuck  foot 
mats,  baskets,  horse  collars  and  other  products  of  the  serv- 
ants' private  industry),  they  were  driven  to  the  market 
towns  of  Wilmington  and  New  Berne  some  eight  or  ten 
days  before  Christmas.  These  were  disposed  of  by  Uncle 
Suwarro,  and  the  purchases  of  nuts,  candies,  fruits  and 
other  things,  for  great  house  and  cabin,  were  made  by  this 
judicious  old  servant. 

At  this  time  the  old  planter  always  remembered  to  send 


The  Old  Plantation.  175 

a  big  turkey  and  a  fine  roasting  pig  to  each  of  several  friends 
in  town,  who  never  forgot  to  send  back  boxes  of  oranges, 
lemons,  grapes,  figs,  runlets  and  baskets  of  fine  old  wine, 
with  some  liquids  not  so  light  as  wine.  The  merchants 
never  forgot  so  good  a  customer  as  the  old  planter,  espe- 
cially at  Christmastide. 

Among  other  purchases  never  forgotten  was  a  full  sup- 
ply of  bananna  handkerchiefs  and  Barlow  knives,  as  pres- 
ents for  the  servants,  while  a  plentiful  supply  of  strings 
for  Eli's  fiddle  and  the  banjo  players  was  always  pur- 
chased. At  this  gala  season  there  was  from  the  well  ap- 
pointed stores  of  the  plantation,  a  full  issue  of  clothing, 
including  hats  and  shoes,  so  that  every  servant  on  the  es- 
tate would  be  especially  well  dressed,  "fo'  Crismus."  My 
sakes !  How  busy  was  old  Uncle  Shadrac  in  barbecuing 
five  or  six  whole  hogs  and  halves  of  young  bullocks,  taking 
care  to  baste  them  well  with  a  long  handled  mop  that  had 
been  dipped  into  a  pan  of  vinegar,  salt  and  home  grown 
red  pepper,  so  that  there  should  be  no  lack  of  highly  fla- 
vored seasoning.  Uncle  Amos  was  very  busy  in  his  daily 
hunts  for  game — wild  turkeys,  ducks,  squirrels,  partridges 
and  pheasants — while  the  old  planter  himself  saw  to  it 
that  there  should  be  a  saddle  or  two  of  fine  venison  for 
this  occasion.  The  truth  is,  nothing  seems  to  have  been 
forgotten  by  the  planter  or  his  good  wife.  The  captains 
of  the  vessels  trading  between  our  landing  and  the  mar- 
ket towns  were  ordered  to  bring  up  a  full  supply  of  selected 
oysters  in  the  shell,  not  forgetting  salt  water  fish  and  fowl, 
Handy  was  careful  to  feed  the  young  gobblers  very  heav- 
ily on  broken  rice  and  peanuts,  while  the  several  cooks 
were  as  busy  as  they  could  well  be  in  preparing  a  bounti- 
ful supply  of  bread  (corn  and  wheat),  with  cakes,  pies 
and  all  sorts  of  good  things  for  the  servants'  Christmas 
dinner.  Virgil  and  George  had  erected  long  tables  in  the 
back  yard,  while  Buck  and  Cain  had  gathered  quantities 
of  evergreen  from  the  woods,  including  basketsful  of  fresh 
fragrant  wintergreen  and  the  delicate  mistletoe,  with  which 
to  dress  the  pictures  and  paintings  in  the  great  house. 

Ah,  me !     How  it  delights  one  to  go  back  in  memory 
and  bring  back  the  joyous  scenes  enacted  during  the  blessed 


176  The  Old  Plantation. 

hours  of  absorbing  labor  of  Christmas  preparation.  The 
day  before  the  "high  feast"  was  one  of  special  activity. 
Everybody  was  busy.  Aunt  Daphne  and  Jane  were  cov- 
ering the  long  tables  with  white  homespun  cloth,  while 
the  writer's  sisters,  with  needles  and  thread,  were  sew- 
ing on  the  borders  sprays  of  cedar,  boxwood  and  winter- 
green,  so  as  to  make  the  tables  as  pretty  as  possible.  The 
pride  of  the  planter  and  his  family  was  stirred  to  make  the 
occasion  just  as  pleasant  as  possible,  alike  in  the  great 
house  and  the  cabin.  The  young  ladies  issued  invitations 
for  a  cotillion  party  during  the  week,  while  the  young  gen- 
tlemen invited  some  of  the  neighbors  to  join  them  in  the 
indispensable  fox  hunt.  It  often  happened  that  the  house 
was  full  of  company  from  the  neighboring  towns,  friends 
of  the  old  planter's  children,  boys  and  girls,  who  had  come 
out  to  enjoy  an  old-fashioned  plantation  country  Christ- 
mas. 

Well,  the  preparations  are  all  complete.  Supper  is  over 
and  the  house  is  ablaze  with  light  from  the  many  candles, 
as  well  as  from  the  cheerful  lire.  The  pictures  have  all 
been  dressed  with  evergreen;  while  large  bunches  of  mis- 
tletoe with  waxen  berries  are  suspended  from  the  center- 
pieces of  the  large  halls  and  parlor.  Merry  laughter  from 
merry  hearts,  snatches  of  songs,  the  buzz  of  animated 
conversation  and  notes  from  the  piano  were  all  heard, 
when  suddenly  a  salvo  as  of  artillery  startles  the  merry- 
makers. What  is  it  ?  Some  twenty-five  or  thirty  of  .the 
young  servants  have  come  up  to  give  "Ole  Marster  and 
Mistiss"  a  Christmas  eve  serenade,  which  they  preface 
with  those  Christmas  guns  which  startled  us  a  while  ago. 
This  loud  report  is  the  simultaneous  explosion  of  those 
hog  bladders  that  were  hung  up  at  the  butchering  season. 
The  young  servants  put  them  down  on  the  hard  beaten 
paths  around  the  great  house  and  jump  on  them  with 
both  feet.  This  is  the  secret  of  those  loud  reports  whick 
broke  in  on  the  fun  and  frolic. 

And  then  when  quiet  is  restored  comes  the  serenade. 
It  is  in  the  form  of  Christmas  carols,  which  have  been 
taught  them  by  the  planter's  daughters,  and  rendered  by 
ft  quartette  of  servants,,  accompanied  by  flute  and  violin. 


The  Old  Plantation.  177 

The  present  writer  has  heard  fine  singing  in  St.  Thomas' 
church  on  Fifth  avenue,  New  York,  as  well  as  in  the 
cathedral  in  New  Orleans.  Never  at  any  time  has  he 
heard  more  melody  evoked  than  that  on  these  serenades 
by  the  fine  voices  of  the  servants.  To  this  very  hour  I 
can  shut  my  eyes  and  still  hear  them,  nor  have  they  been 
displaced  by  either  the  roar  of  artillery  at  Manassas  or  the 
rattle  of  musketry  at  Gettysburg.  Well,  the  concert  or 
serenade  is  over,  and  Eliza,  Handy  and  Buck  have  gone  out 
on  the  veranda  with  trays  of  all  sorts  of  refreshments 
for  these  thoughtful  members  of  the  planter's  family,  who 
presently  fully  refreshed,  retire  to  their  own  quarters, 
singing  as  they  go  with  all  the  joy  in  their  hearts  of  the 
old-time  plantation  Christmas — perhaps  a  little  bit  height- 
ened by  a  glass  or  two  of  good  old  homemade  Scuppernong 
wine  or  eggnog. 

During  the  evening  orders  had  been  given  by  the  old 
planter,  through  Ben,  Uncle  Jim,  Suwarro  and  Handy, 
that  all  the  poultry,  and  every  animal  on  the  plantation — 
including  Inez,  the  pointer,  and  old  Dozy,  the  jack — should 
have  a  bountiful  Christmas  feed  early  in  the  morning. 
Not  that  they  were  not  well  fed  ordinarily.  They  were. 
But  is  was  a  matter  of  beautiful  sentiment  with  my  father 
and  mother  that  on  the  morning  of  the  birthday  of  the 
King  every  form  of  animal  life  on  the  estate  should  be 
placed  in  full  sympathy  with  the  Christmas  "high  feast." 
The  great  house  was  elaborately  dressed  with  evergreen — 
pictures,  halls,  stairways  and  all — when,  every  disposition 
for  the  next  morning  having  been  made,  the  family  re- 
tired, each  to  his  own  department,  but  not  to  sleep  for  an 
hour  or  more.  All  were  busy  in  the  opening  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  different  presents  for  each  other  and  the  house- 
hold servants.  It  was  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  hour  of 
the  whole  year  to  the  family.  At  this  time  unselfishness, 
that  virtue  which  binds  man  so  closely  to  God,  took  on 
its  very  finest  form.  Doubtless  the  angels  of  God,  all 
aglow  with  festive  joy,  were  reporting  to  the  recording 
angel  much,  very  much,  of  the  power  of  love  which  is 
still  of  heavenly  record,  though  the  actors  for  the  most 
part  have  long  since  passed  away.     While  these  ministra- 


178  The  Old  Plantation. 

tions  of  family  friendliness  were  going  on,  often  after 
midnight,  the  silence  was  ever  and  anon  broken  by  some 
young  darky  firing  off  one  of  his  Christmas  guns,  for 
the  joy  of  this  warm-hearted,  emotional  race  was  wholly 
unrestrained  at  this  blessed  season.  What  a  difference 
in  its  observance  here  by  these  Christianized  Africans  and 
their  kinspeople  on  the  banks  of  the  Congo  and  Loango  in 
the  far  away  "dark  continent." 

My  sakes  !  What  a  fusilade  that  is.  Bang !  Bang !  Bang ! 
"Hurrah  for  Christmas  !"  No  more  sleep.  The  day  is 
breaking  and  Christinas  has  come.  Listen  to  those  merry 
voices  down  at  the  quarter !  It  would  seem  that  every- 
body is  awake,  from  Granddaddy  Cain,  the  old  patriarch  of 
the  plantation,  down  to  the  youngest  little  ebon-faced  darky. 
All  up  and  very  fully  awake,  one  would  say,  if  the  ring- 
ing laughter  and  joyous  greetings  pass  for  anything.  Nor 
is  this  Christmas  joy  confined  to  the  servants  at  the 
quarter.  The  old  mansion  is  full  of  the  opening  up  of 
various  forms  of  festivity.  Hear  the  ringing  shouts  of 
Merry  Christmas,  father  \"  "Merry  Christmas,  mother  \" 
Christmas  gift,  ole  Marster;  Christmas  gift,  Ole  Mis- 
tiss,"  coming  from  Handy,  Buck,  Eliza  and  all  the  other 
house  servants.  The  custom  of  the  family  was,  as  each 
one  came  out  into  the  breakfast  room  to  bring  with  them 
their  presents  for  the  other  members  of  the  household, 
placing  them  on  a  side  table,  beautifully  dressed  with 
flowers  and  evergreen,  prepared  for  that  purpose.  After 
family  prayers  these  packages,  properly  bestowed,  were 
all  opened.  In  many  cases,  what  display  of  perfect  knowl- 
edge of  each  others  exact  wants !  How  beautiful  some 
of  them  are,  while  no  one  is  forgotten — not  even  Buck, 
George  or  Cain — for,  at  this  season  especially,  the  old 
planter's  home  is  a  republic  of  love. 

Why  is  it  that  of  all  the  family  the  ole  Mistiss,  the 
dear,  blessed  mother,  the  devoted  wife,  receives  more  pres- 
ents than  any  other?  The  answer  is  easy.  Her  many 
presents  are  the  tokens  of  that  tribute  exacted  by  her 
boundless  love  for  us  all.  Ah,  the  far  reaching  tender- 
ness of  motherhood ! 

What  nice  little  package  is  that  you  see  the  old  planter 


The  Old  Plantation.  179 

opening  there?  He  opens  one  wrapper,  and  yet  another, 
and  another,  and  another,  until  at  last  he  conies  to  a 
box,  as  of  fine  jewelry.  While  he  is  opening  his  treasure 
observe  that  beautiful  young  lady  from  New  Berne,  as 
she  watches  him  very  closely.  At  last  he  opens  the  box 
and  takes  out  the  most  cunning  contrivance.  What  is  it  ? 
It  is  of  the  finest  flesh-colored  silk.  The  dear  old  gen- 
tleman holds  it  up  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger  so 
that  everybody  can  see  it,  still  no  one  seems  to  know  what 
it  is.  At  last  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  (who  seems 
to  be  the  master  of  more  than  one  of  the  fair  donors' 
secrets)  calls  out: 

"Why,  don't  you  all  see  it's  a  nose  protector — some- 
thing to  protect  the  nose  from  the  cold  when  out  fox 
hunting  of  a  bitter,  frosty  morning?  Pray,  sir,  put  it 
on  please." 

"Put  it  on;  put  it  on,"  was  heard  all  around  the  table. 

Sure  enough  the  dear  old  gentleman  put  it  on  his 
rather  large,  Napoleonic  nose,  and  how  nicely  it  fitted  and 
how  everybody  enjoyed  the  joke,  as  he  wore  it  with  the 
delicately  wrought  holes  for  nostrils  and  the  cunning  little 
pink  and  white  tassel  suspended  from  the  tip  end  of  the  nose. 
What  a  roar  of  laughter  and  how  the  dear  old  planter 
enjoyed  the  fun,  as  he  turned  and  thanked  Miss  Nannie 

D for  just  what  he  wanted,  telling  her  he  would  be 

sure  to  wear  it;  and  wear  it  he  did  on  more  than  one 
bleak  winter  morning  when  fox  hunting.  Well,  the  pres- 
ents are  all  opened — and  such  an  array.  A  dog  whistle 
of  silver,  a  beautiful  riding  whip,  kid  gloves,  a  prayer- 
book,  stationery,  a  beautiful  silk  dress,  something  from 
each  one  for  all,  not  forgetting  presents  for  the  servants 
of  the  household. 

Handy  rings  the  breakfast  bell  and  we  all  sit  down, 
amid  peals  of  laughter,  to  such  a  breakfast  as  the  present 
writer  will  not  attempt  to  describe ;  simply  saying  that  his 
mouth  waters,  even  at  this  late  day,  when  he  thinks  of  the 
broiled  oysters,  venison  steak  and  beaten  biscuit,  with 
hot  rice  waffles  and  such  coffee.  Breakfast  over,  the  assem- 
bly bell  rings.  By  the  side  of  a  table  on  the  back  veranda 
the  old  planter  and  his  dear  wife  take  their  places,  while 


i8o  The  Old  Plantation. 

all  the  servants  file  past  them,  each  receiving  some  present 
— a  bandanna  handkerchief,  a  Barlow  knife,  a  doll  baby 
or  a  package  of  tobacco;  and  to  each  of  the  foremen  an 
envelope  with  a  crisp  bank  note  in  it,  every  one  calling 
out  in  passing  by,  "Merry  Cris'mus !  Merry  Cris'mus  !" 
and  right  merry  it  was.  After  church  in  the  morning, 
to  which  all  went  who  were  so  disposed,  the  wish  of  the 
old  master  bringing  about  a  large  attendance,  the  family 
enjoyed  a  luncheon  at  one  o'clock.  At  two  o'clock  the 
assembly  bell  rang  and  the  servants  assembled  in  the  back 
yard  for  dinner.  Before  they  began  their  dinner  the  prizes 
in  money  were  given  for  the  first,  second  and  third  best 
crops  in  the  turpentine  orchards  that  year. 

It  would  have  done  you  good,  dear  reader,  to  have  seen 
Ben,  Uncle  Philip,  Cicero  and  Eobert  serving  as  special 
waiters  while  dispensing  this  excellent  dinner  of  barbecued 
meats  with  plenty  of  potatoes,  rice,  corn  and  wheat  bread, 
followed  by  pies  and  cakes,  with  coffee  in  abundance.  Ah, 
you  ought  to  have  seen  the  festive  joy  of  these  overgrown 
children,  as  nicely  dressed,  amid  peals  of  laughter  and  the 
frequent  explosion  of  their  Christmas  guns  by  the  younger 
ones  they  fully  satisfied  their  appetites.  I  will  not  humble 
myself  by  undertaking,  and  then  failing,  to  describe  some 
features  of  this  plantation  Christmas  dinner.  I  certainly 
do  wish,  kind  reader,  you  could  have  witnessed  the  com- 
pany manners  of  the  ebon  beaux  and  dusky  belles,  as 
they  sought  to  make  headway  in  each  other's  good  graces. 
How  you  would  have  enjoyed  witnessing  the  saucy  tossing 
of  her  head,  bedecked  with  red  ribbon,  as  Kate,  the  young 
mistress's  maid,  replied  to  Ben's  inquiry,  wishing  her 
a  merry  Christmas.     He  said: 

"Mis'  Kate,  how  duz  yer  corporashun  seem  to  sergashiate 
on  dis  yer  'cashun?" 

To  which  suggestive  question  Kate  made  reply: 

"I  am,  suh,  no  wusser  dan  I  was,  but  I  feels  much  mo' 
comf ortabler  sense  dinnah ;  yuh  must  hab  s'posed  dat  whole 
barbecue  wuz  prapared  for  yuh.  I  jes'  wish  all  ole  Mas- 
ter's niggers  wuz  as  'dustrious  in  de  co'nfield  as  yuh  is  at 
dis  table." 

Wonderfully  given  to  big  words  at  all  times,  it  was  on 


The  Old  Plantation.  181 

just  such  occasions  as  this  that  Ben  would  abandon  him- 
self to  what  he  called  "long  tailed  bookionary  'spresions/' 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  immediate  effect  upon  each 
other  of  such  passages  at  arms  as  the  above,  it  was  true 
that  more  than  one  wedding  on  the  plantation  followed 
close  after  the  Christmas  holidays.  After  these  bows  and 
conges  and  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  dinner,  each  one 
made  his  respects  to  the  old  master.  Then,  in  family 
groups,  they  retired  to  their  own  homes.  As  they  passed 
along  the  well-worn  pathway,  every  few  minutes  off  would 
go  one  of  those  Christmas  guns,  whereupon  in  strong, 
hilarious  voice  one  of  the  many  revelers  would  call  out, 
"Hurrah  for  Christmas ;  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year ; 
if  I  gits  drunk  you  needn't  keer."  At  night  they  would 
have  their  dance  and  gladly  entertain  their  friends  from 
the  neighboring  estates,  and  so  this  blessed  holiday  was 
observed  among  these  people. 

Nearly  all  of  these  older  servants  have  gone  where 
"de  good  darkies  go/'  and  it  is  feared  that  the  generation 
which  has  come  on  since  these  golden  hours  are  strangers 
to  many  forms  of  innocent  enjoyment  which  obtained  in 
those  days.  The  beautiful  Christmas  dinner  which  en- 
gaged the  family  around  the  hospitable  board  of  the  old 
home  was  a  very  masterpiece  of  housewifery  in  all  its  de- 
partments. It  is  rather  strange,  and  somewhat  humilia- 
ting, that  those  things  which  give  us  the  most  pleasure  in 
some  cases,  baffle  our  powers  of  description.  Among  them 
is  an  old-fashioned  plantation  dinner  and,  I  may  add,  the 
description  of  a  beautiful  bride;  for  (let  it  be  said  respect- 
fully in  her  presence)  the  two,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
baffle  all  powers  of  description.  Many  improvements  have 
come  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century — among 
which  are  electric  lights,  telephones  and  automobile 
carriages  (not  bicycles  or  multiplied  divorces) — but  the 
culinary  art,  as  did  eloquence  and  rare  statesmanship, 
reached  its  perfection  in  the  days  of  Calhoun,  Clay  and 
Webster.  There  are  other  features  of  this  festive  week 
which  claim  attention,  and  they  furnish  the  writer  with 
a  welcome  excuse  for  hurrying  over  that  dinner,  the  per- 
fection of  which  would  be  marred  by  any  attempt  on  my 


1 82  The  Old  Plantation. 

part  at  description.  We  hurry  over  the  description,  but 
there  was  no  hurry  in  the  discussion  of  the  meal  itself. 
After  dinner  with  its  black  coffee  and  cigars,  came  whist, 
music  and  a  few  quadrilles,  winding  up  with  the  Virginia 
reel.  Thus  ended  a  typical  Southern  Christmas  Day,  but 
the  holiday  and  its  festivities  extended  to  the  New  Year. 


The  Old  Plantation.  183 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

Of  the  accomplishments  of  the  boys  raised  on  the  South- 
ern plantation,  there  is  one  the  acquisition  of  which  he 
has  no  clearly  defined  recollection  of.  In  his  nursery  days 
he  has  a  vague  remembrance  of  a  pony,  of  which  he  ac- 
quired a  thorough  mastery  before  he  put  on  pants.  He 
knows  when  and  where  he  learned  to  swim  and  to  shoot 
a  gun,  but  from  his  very  cradledom  he  was  made  familiar 
with  his  horse.  Hence  it  was  that,  until  the  resources  of 
the  South  were  broken  in  the  late  Confederate  struggle  for 
Independence,  the  cavalry  which  followed  the  standards 
of  Hampton,  Stuart,  Ashby  and  Forrest  have  rarely  if  ever 
been  equaled  in  the  annals  of  war.  When  the  Southern 
boy  added  to  his  knowledge  of  horses  that  of  familar  ac- 
quaintance with  dogs,  which  comes  only  from  early  and 
close  association,  one  is  quite  prepared  to  find  his  char- 
acteristic manliness.  Of  the  two,  the  dog  and  horse, 
it  is  still  a  mooted  question  which  in  point  of  high  in- 
stinct stands  next  to  man.  Loving  both  of  them,  the 
writer  will  not  undertake  to  settle  this  question.  He  will 
make  no  invidious  discrimination  between  his  friends. 
Where  the  two  are  closely  thrown  together,  as  they  are  in 
the  fox  chase,  man  has  ever  found  ample  field  for  his  love 
of  both.  This  close  association  of  the  three  most  noble 
forms  of  animal  life — man,  horse  and  dog — accounts 
largely  for  that  peculiar  fascination  which  the  fox  chase 
has  ever  had  for  the  youth  of  the  South.  Far  more  fas- 
cinating is  it  than  a  stag  or  deer  hunt.  Incomparably  su- 
perior is  it  to  the  bear  hunt.     Stale  and  flat  are  both  duck 


184  The  Old  Plantation. 

and  partridge  hunting  in  comparison  with  it.  This  is  so* 
because  in  none  of  these  is  there  to  be  found  that  close 
comradeship  which  is  inseparable  from  the  rider,  his 
horse  and  his  dog,  and  which  belongs  only  to  the  old- 
fashioned  fox  chase.  Baseball,  golf,  yachting,  lawn  tennis, 
and  all  of  these  more  conventional,  artificial  modes  of  en- 
joyment, in  point  of  excitement — that  tension  of  nerve 
coming  out  of  a  sense  of  danger,  that  high  form  of  thrill- 
ing pleasure  of  the  full  cry  of  hounds  in  close  and  hot 
pursuit,  that  full  sympathy  between  the  hunter,  his  horse 
and  his  dog,  are  not  to  be  compared  with  this  old-fashioned 
plantation  sport. 

We  are  now  to  speak  of  one  of  these.  It  was  at  dawn 
of  day,  the  morning  after  Christmas,  when  the  silvery  notes 
of  our  neighbor's  (Mr.  Frank  Thompson)  horn  were  heard 
floating  over  field  and  forest,  telling  in  their  friendly  way 
that  the  invitation  to  the  hunt  had  been  received  and 
accepted.  In  an  orchestra  the  liquid  notes  of  the  cornet 
are  singularly  sweet.  To  those  swayed  by  music,  the 
violin,  the  flute,  the  piano  and  the  guitar  are  very  attract- 
ive; but  the  writer  has  heard  nothing  so  moving,  so  in- 
spiring, as  the  mellow  sound  of  the  hunter's  horn,  that 
harbinger  of  field  sport  unequaled.  The  call  is  answered. 
Presently  in  comes  Mr.  Thompson,  accompanied  by  two 
or  three  neighbors,  while  the  barking  of  his  pack  chal- 
lenges the  old  planter's  dogs,  who  answer  back  from  their 
closely  kept  kennel,  telling  significantly  that  they  are 
ready  for  a  trial  of  speed — for  a  day  of  splendid  sport. 
Hot  coffee,  with  cold  meats,  bread  and  butter,  make  up 
the  hunter's  quickly  dispatched  breakfast,  for  the  day  is 
fine.  The  horses  are  held  at  the  front  gate  by  Cicero, 
George,  Buck  and  Cain,  the  dogs  are  whining  impatiently  to 
be  let  out  of  the  kennel  and  the  cigars  and  pocket  flasks 
have  been  attended  to  by  Handy,  when  the  command  is 
given  for  the  start.  Quickly  they  mount  their  impatient 
horses,  the  gate  is  opened,  out  rushes  as  fine  a  pack  of 
fox  hounds  as  ever  followed  game,  and  the  party  of  ten  or 
twelve  hunters  ride  away  as  merrily  as  if  they  were  going 
to  a  feast. 

Time  fails  us  in  describing  each  hunter  and  his  fine 


The  Old  Plantation.  185 

mount.  We  will,  however,  take  the  time  to  pay  our  re- 
spects to  that  princely  Southern  gentleman — our  neighbor 
and  friend — Mr.  Frank  Thompson,  whose  sons  are  still 
actively  engaged  in  keeping  up  the  old  line  in  the  dear 
old  county  of  Onslow.  The  father  had  a  marked  ad- 
vantage over  his  boys,  in  that  while,  perhaps,  he  knew 
less  of  books  than  they  did,  his  outdoor  education  had 
been  more  closely  attended  to  and  he  had  developed  into 
one  of  the  most  ardent  sportsmen  in  Eastern  Carolina. 
On  this  occasion  he  looked  every  inch  the  typical  Southern 
fox  hunter.  Then  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,  in  weight 
somewhere  about  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds,  straight 
as  a  Parthian  arrow,  in  height  about  five  feet  ten  inches, 
with  deep  auburn  hair  brushed  back  behind  his  ears  under 
a  jaunty  hunting  cap,  mounted  on  a  thoroughbred  bay 
mare  (in  politics  a  Henry  Clay  Whig),  he  was  for  all 
the  world  the  man  you  would  have  selected  for  a  hard 
rider,  a  close  friend,  and  a  hard  worker  in  a  political  cam- 
paign— the  wrong  man  to  make  angry  unless  somebody 
was  to  be  badly  hurt.  Yes,  yes,  what  a  splendid  party  of 
true  Southerners  this  was,  riding  along  briskly  to  the 
Christmas  fox  hunt,  in  those  blessed  days  before  the  flood. 
They  have  all  gone  over  into  the  borderland  and  joined 
the  great  majority  save  one.  Sad  is  the  thought  that  their 
places  have  not  been — cannot  be — filled,  for  trie  social 
forces  which  produced  them  died  out  with  the  old  South. 
Well,  the  hunting  ground  has  been  reached.  It  lay 
west  of  the  lake,  well  out  in  the  turpentine  orchard,  and 
above  the  headwaters  of  Chapel  Eun.  The  dogs,  eager 
for  the  chase,  are  circling  well  out  to  the  right  and  left, 
searching  anxiously  for  the  trail.  The  hunters  are  chat- 
ting away  merrily  about  crops,  politics  and  the  weather,  as 
they  ride  along  full  of  energy  and  that  peculiar  elan  known 
only  to  the  genuine  fox  hunter.  Presently  the  deep  notes 
of  old  Staver's  voice  are  heard  calling  for  help  to  carry 
the  trail,  which  that  industrious  old  dog  has  found.  The 
old  planter  cries  out,  "Hark  to  him !  Hark,  Nimrod ! 
Hark,  Fashion  !"  On  they  ride.  The  scent  is  strong,  so 
strong  that  Mr.  Thompson  calls  out,  "By  George,  it's  a 
bitch  fox!    Hark,  Juno!    Hark,  boys!    Hark,  away!" 


1 86  The  Old  Plantation. 

Rapidly  we  ride  on,  for  the  dogs  have  caught  the  trail 
and  have  gone.  Now  the  whole  pack  is  calling  out  in  fine 
chorus.  Every  hunter  has  gathered  up  the  reins  and 
straightened  up  in  his  saddle,  not  unlike  a  squadron  of 
cavalry  about  to  enter  a  deadly  charge.  The  horses  show 
from  the  quick  way  in  which  they  are  bounding  along, 
that  they  are  in  full  sympathy  with  the  increasing  excite- 
ment of  the  riders. 

The  old  planter  leading  his  boys,  all  splendidly  mounted, 
rides  like  a  young  man.  Ah,  what  a  splendid  figure  was 
his  that  day !  The  writer  has  ridden  after  Asliby,  has 
seen  Stuart  when  mad  amid  the  high  carnival  of  war, 
but  he  has  never  seen  any  man  on  horseback  more  thor- 
oughly the  master  of  his  mount  than  was  this  old  planter 
when  fired  by  the  wild  excitement  of  the  chase.  The  cry 
of  the  pack  increases  in  volume,  as  the  trail  grows  hotter 
and  hotter,  while  on  they  go,  pressing  after  old  Reynard, 
who  has  not  yet  risen  from  her  cover  in  the  dense  thicket 
which  we  are  now  approaching.  We  have  reached  it.  It 
was  one  of  those  jungles  or  thickets  full  of  bamboo  and  cat- 
briers,  with  dense  undergrowth.  No  horseman  can  enter  it. 
The  dogs  go  in.  Not  very  far  do  they  go  when  the  sharp, 
harsh,  angry  cry  of  Fashion  is  heard.  All  understand  it, 
dogs  and  hunters  alike.  The  fox  is  up  and  has  broken 
away  from  cover.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  cry  in  your 
life?  Hear  the  deep  notes  of  Rover,  joining  with  the 
sharper  notes  of  Nimrod  and  the  sharp,  raspy  staccato  of 
Fashion,  while  twenty  others  join  in  the  chorus.  The 
fox,  hot  pressed,  must  come  out  of  that  dense  cover. 
They  are  making  it  too  hot  for  her.  Out  she  comes  and, 
trusting  to  her  speed,  stretches  away  for  dear  life  across 
the  pine  ridge  clear  of  undergrowth — about  two  hundred 
yards  in  the  lead  of  the  pack.  As  she  clears  the  thicket, 
Neighbor  Thompson  gets  a  view  of  her.  Hear  him,  as 
with  his  manly  voice  he  calls  out,  "Hark !  Hark !  Hark 
away,  boys !  Hark,  old  Juno !"  Out  they  come — the 
whole  pack — and  on  they  go,  running  still  by  scent,  Juno 
and  Fashion  abreast,  with  all  the  others  following  close 
after ! 

And  now  comes  the  sport.    Horses,  riders,  dogs,  all  full 


The  Old  Plantation.  187 

of  it.  They  ride  like  mad,  the  old  planter  and  Mr.  Thomp-' 
son  leading,  followed  closely  by  the  others  at  a  breakneck 
gait,  and  all  yelling  as  if  the  furies  had  broken  loose.  The 
fox  had  too  much  start  and  reached  another  bayou  just 
in  advance  of  the  pack,  but  she  had  no  time  to  throw 
away.  Into  this  dense  thicket  she  plunges  and  rapidly 
makes  her  way  through  it,  then  leaves  it  for  a  hundred  \ 
yards  or  more,  circles  around,  and  on  her  back  track 
enters  it  on  the  other  side,  in  her  crafty  cunning  hoping 
thus  to  elude  the  dogs,  which  were  moving  more  slowly 
through  the  sharp-set  catbriers,  the  thorns  of  which  are 
cutting  their  noses  and  ears  so  that  the  blood  flows  freely. 
Some  time  elapsed  before  the  dogs  succeeded  in  forcing 
her  from  cover.  After  a  time  old  Staver  gives  out  one 
of  those  sharp,  angry  barks  which  the  hunter  understands 
to  mean  quick  work.  She  has  broken  cover  again,  and 
this  time  the  dogs  are  close  on  her ;  not  yet  quite  in  sight, 
for  no  fox,  red  or  gray,  could  ever  stand  long  before 
Fashion  running  by  sight.  So  fleet  is  the  good  old  dog 
(the  most  beautiful  thoroughbred  English  fox  hound  the 
writer  ever  saw)  that  she  always  reminded  one  more  of 
the  splendid  movement  of  a  greyhound  in  her  magnificent 
sweep  of  splendid  speed  than  an  ordinary  dog  of  the  hound 
breed.  On  they  go !  The  dogs  are  running  rapidly  now, 
indicated  by  the  short,  angry,  half  suppressed  cry  as  if 
they  had  not  time  to  bark.  What  rapid  riding!  What 
shouting !  How  much  the  horses  seem  to  enjoy  it  as,  pull- 
ing away  on  the  bit,  they  rush  on.  Hard  run,  the  fox 
just  makes  the  cover  again.  She  has  no  time  to  talk  to 
Breer  Rabbit  in  her  hurry.  On  come  the  fastest  of  the 
dogs  and  into  the  cover  they  plunge.  Here  they  show 
their  high  instinct  by  circling  around  singly;  and  thus, 
presently,  they  force  the  fox  out  for  the  last  time.  Once 
more  she  makes  a  bold,  strong  lead  across  the  open  woods. 
The  old  planter  and  Mr.  Thompson  are  sitting  on  their 
horses  at  the  edge  of  the  swamp  just  as  the  game  breaks 
from  cover,  and  at  the  top  of  their  voices  they  call  out, 
"Here,  here!  Hark,  Fashion!  Hark,  Juno!"  On  come 
the  faithful  dogs,  and  as  they  stretch  away  across  the  ridge 
the  two  leaders  get  a  glimpse  of  the  fox,  and  with  an 


1 88  The  Old  Plantation. 

angry,  sharp  scream  of  a  bark  they  dash  on.  Reynard's 
days,  her  minutes,  are  now  numbered.  The  hunters  ride 
on.  They  see  that  her  danger  signals  are  flying,  for  her 
tail  is  down  and  her  tongue  is  out  of  her  mouth.  They 
press  on.  Just  then,  as  they  are  letting  their  horses  out 
at  full  speed,  they  see  the  fox  chase  in  all  its  wild  excite- 
ment, in  all  its  finest  form,  dogs,  fox  and  horses  all  run- 
ning in  full  view.  Then  they  hear  the  two  dogs,  as  they 
utter  a  half  growl  and  a  half  bark,  and  in  a  moment  more 
the  chase  is  over,  for  the  leading  dog  overruns  the  fox, 
which,  in  doubling  back,  is  caught  by  the  next  dog  and 
in  a  trice  thrown  to  the  ground  and  fastened  by  the  throat. 
Mr.  Thompson,  our  guest,  in  a  moment  dismounts  and  with 
a  quick  movement  of  his  pocket  knife  severs  the  tail  from 
the  body.  Then  with  a  blast  or  two  upon  his  beautifully 
polished  hunting  horn  he  calls  for  the  lagging  dogs  and 
hunters,  inserts  the  brush  in  the  band  of  his  cap,  and,  as 
the  victor  of  the  hunt,  proceeds  to  tie  the  dead  animal  to 
his  saddle  bow.  But  the  hunters  are  not  all  up.  Waiting 
some  time,  several  of  the  party  go  back  to  see  what  has  be- 
fallen the  absentee,  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  from  the 
city.  Returning  on  the  line  of  the  last  lead  from  the 
swamp,  they  find  him  some  half  a  mile  or  more  away.  He 
is  half  reclining  at  the  base  of  a  pine  tree,  pretty  badly 
hurt.  His  horse  had  fallen  by  putting  one  of  his  fore- 
feet in  a  stump  hole  while  running,  when  both  horse  and 
rider  had  gone  down  with  no  little  violence,  hurting 
neither  of  them  seriously  and  luckily  breaking  no  bones, 
though  giving  the  rider  a  severe  shaking  up.  The  horse 
was  soon  caught,  with  some  help  the  young  hunter  mounted, 
and  the  whole  party  started  for  home.  As  they  jog 
along,  the  hunters  all  agree  in  regarding  this  as  a  very 
fine  chase. 

Certainly  the  bold,  strong  leads  which  the  fox  had  made 
from  one  cover  to  another,  embracing  in  one  a  lead  more 
than  a  mile,  had  put  both  dogs  and  horses  on  their  mettle. 
Undoubtedly  it  was  a  most  exciting  scene  in  the  second 
fine  dash,  when  the  game  broke  away  with  a  strong  lead — 
after  her  cunning  trick  in  doubling  and  running  fallen 
logs  in  the  tangled,  thick  cover — with  all  the  dogs  in 


The  Old  Plantation.  189 

a  huddle  as  they  came  out  and  took  up  the  hot  running 
trail.  It  was  a  scene  worthy  of  Kosa  Bonheur,  when  close 
after  the  pack,  the  hunters  let  their  horses  out  to  a  fine 
speed,  cheering  on  the  dogs  with  exciting  voices.  Yes,  the 
battle  field  has  its  excitements  wholly  indescribable,  with 
its  roar  of  artillery,  its  blaze  and  rattle  of  musketry  and 
its  bursting  and  ricocheting  shells.  Yes,  that  is  so;  yet 
the  fox  chase  of  the  olden  times  had  a  wonderful  fascina- 
tion over  those  who  were  trained  to  its  finest  forms  in  the 
old  plantation  days— when  the  high-strung  Southerner 
stood  so  related  to  his  sunny  life  as  to  know  what  was 
meant  by  the  saying,  "Time  was  made  for  slaves." 

The  whole  party  dined  with  the  old  planter  that  day, 
when  there  was  some  fine  conversation,  as  Mr.  Thompson 
exploited  his  dog,  Juno,  and  the  old  planter  came  back 
at  him  by  telling  how  Fashion  had  led  the  whole  pack. 
Ah,  those  blessed  old  days !  We  ne'er  shall  see  their  like 
again;  but  their  memory  is  very  precious  to  some  of  us, 
who  have  outlived  most  of  our  friends,  and  along  whose 
pathways  the  dark  shadows  of  the  Appomattox  have  fallen. 

The  party  breaks  up,  after  making  an  engagement  to 
try  their  hand  at  a  deer  hunt  when  the  dogs  and  horses 
shall  have  rested  up.  The  next  day  one  could  have  told 
from  the  quick  way  in  which  the  servants  were  moving 
about  that  some  important  event  was  on  hand.  What  was 
it  ?  It  was  the  large  party  that  was  to  come  off  that  even- 
ing. Handy  and  Buck  were  busy  in  waxing  the  floors  of 
the  broad  halls  where  the  young  people  were  to  enjoy  the 
dancing.  The  young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen  were 
busy  in  freshening  up  the  decorations — some  replacing  with 
fresh  evergreen  anything  that  might  have  withered,  others 
bringing  in  from  the  greenhouse  beautiful  flowers  and 
potted  plants.  Our  young  friend  who  had  been  unhorsed 
in  the  fox  chase  was  out  again,  still  lame  but  able  to  assist 
the  young  ladies  in  trimming  the  candelabra  with  ivy 
leaves  and  other  evergreens,  and  in  doing  such  other 
things  as  were  necessary.  At  the  junction  of  the  two 
broad  halls  a  platform  had  been  placed  for  Eli  and  the 
other  musicians,  so  that  with  the  same  music  four  quad- 
rilles could  go  on  at  once  in  the  four  sections  of  the  broad 


190  The  Old  Plantation. 

halls.     Time  fails  for  a  full  description  of  the  elaborate 
preparations.     It  is  not  necessary.     We  can  trust  the  dear 
old  planter's  wife  and  daughters  to  have  everything  just 
right.     Parties  were  no  new  things  to  them.     The  day 
wore  on.     The  afternoon  was  far  spent.     Towards  night- 
fall the  guests  began  to  arrive  from  a  distance.     From 
Clinton,  Kenansville,  Kinston,  Trenton,  as  well   as  from 
New  Berne    and    Wilmington,    the    guests    came.     How 
graciously  were  they  received !     What  kind  inquiries  were 
made  of  the  old  fathers  and  mothers  at  home.     What  a 
marked  absence  of  anything  like  the  chilling,  mechanical 
stiffness  of  the  more  modern,  artificial  manners  of  certain 
other  sections !     What  an  absence  of  stiffness  in  bearing 
and  manner,  both  upon  the  part  of  the  guests  and  those 
whom  they  were  gladdening  by  their  visit.     How  easily 
everything  seems  to  go  on.     How  readily  Eliza  and  Kate 
(dressed  up  in  their  "best  bib  and  tucker,"  with  becoming 
turbans  wound  around  their  heads,  and  their  snowy  white 
aprons)   showed  the  young  ladies  upstairs.     How  bright 
were  the  faces  of  Buck  and  Handy  as  they  escorted  the 
young  gentlemen  to  Marse    John's    quarters !     Where  in 
the  round  world  are  all  these  charming  young  people  to 
sleep  to-night?     Never  you  mind  about  that.     Wait  and 
see.     Our  early  supper  was  soon  over,  allowing  plenty  of 
time  for  elaborate  toilets  before  the  full  opening  of  the 
festivities.     Now  the  servants    are    busy    in    lighting    a 
hundred  or  more  wax  or  spermaceti  candles  (the  old  plan- 
ter allows  no  lamps  in  his  house),  when  presently  the  whole 
house  is  radiant  with  light.     The  guests  from  the  neigh- 
boring plantations  are  beginning  to  arrive.     The  parlors 
are  already  well  filling  up  with  beautiful  young  ladies, 
exquisitely  dressed,  with  no  suggestion  of  decollete  or  any 
thing  like  immodesty  in  their  elaborate  and  rich  toilets. 
Diamonds  and  pearls,  which  had  been  in  the  families  from 
Revolutionary   days,   throw   back   glinting   rays   of   light 
from  the  beautiful  persons  of  these  lovely  young  girls. 
What  fair  scene  for  a  painter  it  was !     I  cannot  describe 
it,  but  I  well  remember  it.     How  full  of  kind  courtesy 
and  gentle  dignity  in  their  bearing  were  the  young  men, 


The  Old  Plantation.  191 

I 

who  in  after  years  rode  with  Hampton  and  Ashby  or  who* 
followed  where  Pettigrew  led  at  historic  Gettysburg ! 

Presently  the  sweet  notes  of  the  violin  are  heard.  The 
buzz  of  brisk,  breezy  conversation  and  the  rippling  laugh- 
ter of  joyous  young  maidens  gives  place  to  the  dance.  It 
is  no  wonder.  The  young  people  of  the  old  South,  true 
to  their  blood  and  training,  were  always  ready  for  this 
innocent  amusement.  How  handsomely  dressed  are  these 
young  gentlemen  as  they  file  out,  each  one  with  a  lovely 
girl  on  his  arm,  for  they  have  heard  the  call  to  the  dance  ? 
■Yes,  they  have  all  heard  the  long-drawn  notes  on  Eli's 
violin,  and  his  fine  strong  voice  as  he  calls,  "Pardners 
fo?  de  fus'  cotillyin."  From  the  large  number  of  young 
people  present,  to  furnish  the  four  sets  of  eight  pairs 
each  was  not  a  difficult  task.  In  a  short  time,  apparently, 
all  were  ready.  Just  then  someone  called  out,  "Not  yet, 
we  are  waiting  for  our  host  and  hostess  to  open  the  dance." 
After  some  slight  delay  out  came  the  old  planter,  with  his 
wife  leaning  on  his  arm,  and  took  their  places  among  the 
young  people  in  the  dance.  It  was  a  joyous  sight  in  those 
happy  old  times  to  see  the  two  generations  moving  together 
in  time  with  the  music  as  they  threaded  their  way  through 
the  mazes  of  the  dance.  With  no  disposition  to  berate  the 
present  generation  because  they  have  it  not,  but  rather 
to  speak  of  the  exact  conditions  of  society  in  those  days, 
let  us  note  well  the  graceful  carriage  of  the  young  ladies 
now  on  the  floor  of  this  old  plantation  home.  How  do 
their  easy,  graceful  motions,  with  scarcely  an  effort  marking 
the  time,  seem  so  exactly  to  accord  with  the  rich  garmentry 
so  nicely  fitted  to  their  beautiful,  well-rounded  figures. 
These  lovely  Southern  girls  seem  to  have  mastered  the 
pleasing  secret  of  the  poetry  of  motion.  Observe  for  one 
moment  that  black-eyed,  rich  brunette,  as  with  her  partner 
she  sweeps  along  so  gracefully  the  whole  length  of  the 
quadrille  and  with  her  fine  face  lit  up  with  the  excite- 
ment of  the  occasion  she  flings  back  a  laughing  banter 
to  conventionality  and  says,  in  her  fine  motion,  "I  learned 
what  I  know  of  the  finest  forms  of  grace  of  person  from 
my  horseback  rides,  and  not  on  a  bicycle ;  I  love  the  dance, 
because  in  it  there  is  no  harm,  for  my  mother  spoke  truly 


192  The  Old  Plantation. 

when  she  said  we  commit  forty  times  more  sin  with  our 
tongues  than  we  do  with  our  toes."  Yes,  it  is  true,  that  as 
these  girl  were  taught  to  row  a  boat  and  ride  a  horse  they 
well-nigh  mastered  the  secrets  of  feminine  grace  in  their 
carriage  and  their  fine  bearing  in  the  dance.  Just  how 
far  technique  in  music  has  destroyed  melody,  how  far  the 
bicycle  has  robbed  the  young  ladies  of  this  age  of  grace- 
ful form  and  motion,  I  know  not,  but  you  may  judge  how 
graceful  these  young  ladies  were  if  you  will  only  look  on 
at  this  dance,  full  of  the  festivity  of  Christmastime  in 
the  early  fifties  of  the  last  century.  One  cannot  leave 
these  older  people,  engaged  with  their  whist  and  conversa- 
tion over  there,  and  stand  here  for  ten  minutes  watching 
these  young  people  "chasing  the  glowing  hours  with  fly- 
ing feet,"  without  saying  most  heartily  that  Keats  was 
right  when,  in  his  Endymion,  he  said,  "A  thing  of  beauty 
is  a  joy  forever." 

On  goes  the  dance — quadrille  after  quadrille — until  long 
after  midnight,  with  here  and  there  a  waltz  introduced,  and 
occasionally  a  schottische  or  a  mazourka,  and  here  and 
there  time  allowed  for  the  lancers.  The  announcement 
of  supper  brought  in  some  young  people,  who  were  far 
more  seriously  engaged  in  those  slow,  deliberate  promenades 
on  the  long  piazza  which  told  so  unmistakably  that  Cupid 
was  not  dead,  but  that  the  mischievous  little  god  was 
very  much  alive  and  very  busy  this  evening.  Supper  over, 
the  dancing  is  resumed,  until  at  last,  amid  the  wee  sma? 
hours  of  the  morning,  the  order  rings  out  from  Eli's  well 
known  voice  "Git  yo'  pardners  fo'  de  ole  Berginny  reel." 
What  a  stir !  What  commotion  !  Presently  it  would  seem  as 
if  everybody  was  in  that  dance,  the  reel  reaching  the  whole 
length  of  the  hall.  Let  us  count  them.  There  are  over 
thirty  couples  in  this  reel.  Ah,  the  glorious  old  Virginia 
reel ;  what  memories  it  evokes,  what  shadows  it  proclaims ! 
There  are  many  forms  of  fine  amusement  among  the  young 
people  in  the  South.  The  young  men  love  the  fox  chase 
and  the  young  ladies  delight  in  their  horseback  rides,  as 
well  or  perhaps  even  better  than  they  do  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
works  or  Macaulay's  fine  essays.  The  Virginia  reel,  how- 
ever, stirs  them  as  nothing  else  can.  It  is  the  last  of  the 
dance  for  this  time,  and  such  a  dance!    It  has  always 


The  Old  Plantation.  193 

been  a  mooted  point  whether  the  reel  was  made  for  the 
Southerner  or  the  young  people  of  the  South  made  for 
the  reel.  There  is  that  in  the  rapidity  of  its  action — a 
fine  field  for  the  natural  grace  of  this  warm-hearted, 
pleasure-loving  people — the  inspiration  of  the  music  in 
the  old  pieces  of  "Grey  Eagle"  or  'Tire  on  the  Mountain" 
combining  to  account  for  the  popularity  of  this  dance, 
which  neither  wars  nor  revolutions  can  destroy.  Of  its 
kind — and  it  is  a  glorious  kind — there  is  nothing  of  all 
the  European  dances  nor  of  those  colder,  more  mechanical, 
icy  figures  of  the  conventional  "four  hundred"  in  chilly 
Gotham  which  can  match  it.  Some  of  those  fine,  manly 
forms  we  see  to-night  were  seen  later  in  the  serried  ranks 
following  Stuart,  Hoke,  Gordon  and  Pettigrew  as  they 
followed  Stonewall  Jackson,  who  in  turn  was  led  by  the 
matchless  Lee,  but,  fine  as  they  were,  here  to-night  they 
appear  to  even  greater  advantage  than  when  they  periled 
their  lives  and,  in  so  periling  them,  felt  of  the  edge  of 
battle.  Yes,  when  the  Cavalier  and  Huguenot  blood  met, 
as  it  did  here  to-night,  they  showed  beyond  peradventure 
that  "knighthood  was  still  in  flower"  in  those  dear  old  days 
of  the  South. 

The  hospitality  of  the  neighboring  estates  was  so  marked 
and  his  own  capacity  to  entertain  his  friends  was  so  great 
that  by  crowding  his  male  guests,  and  with  free  use  of 
pallets,  the  planter's  company  was  comfortably  enter- 
tained. 

The  Christmas  festivities  were  very  far  from  being  con- 
fined to  the  white  people,  as  the  servants  had  their  full 
share  of  it  in  their  own  way.  This  was  clearly  shown  by 
the  notes  of  music,  snatches  of  songs  and  the  peculiar 
noise,  all  their  own,  of  "double  shuffle,"  "the  break  down," 
"chi'kin  in  de  bred  tray"  and  the  graceful  "pigeon  wing," 
followed  by  their  genuine  "cake  walk."  Thus  did  these 
two  races  dwell  together — the  weaker  (in  daily  contact  with 
the  older,  stronger  civilization)  steadily  emerging  from 
the  shadows  of  paganism.  In  view  of  what  is  now  tran- 
spiring among  this  same  race  in  Illinois  and  Georgia,  to 
the  mind  of  the  writer  it  would  have  been  far  wiser  not  to 
have  made  the  attempt  to  hurry  Almighty  God  in  His 


194  The  Old  Plantation.; 

slower,  wiser  purposes  with  this  race.  They  were  not 
fitted  for  the  ballot  when  it  was  thrust  upon  them.  They 
were  being  gradually  and  healthfully  prepared  for  it,  under 
the  slower  processes  of  the  relation  which  they  sustained 
to  the  white  people  under  the  Constitution  prior  to  the 
emancipation  proclamation.  For  it  is  true,  absolutely 
true,  that  colonization  societies  were  actively  at  work  all 
over  the  fair  Southland,  gradually  and  healthfully  set- 
ting on  their  feet  those  who  a  few  generations  ago  were 
amid  the  jungles  of  far  off  Africa. 


The  Old  Plantation/  195 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

(CONCLUSION. 

In  closing  up  a  volume  like  this,  one  finds  so  many; 
features  of  great  value  have  been  omitted  from  the  pic- 
ture that,  after  all,  nothing  better  than  a  mere  sketch 
has  been  presented.  The  writer  puts  down  his  pen,  sad- 
dened by  the  thought  that  only  a  mere  outline  of  the  true 
conditions  has  been  given.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  has 
portrayed  the  old  South  faithfully  others  will  take  up  the 
work,  so  that  the  grandchildren  of  the  men  who  were  with 
General  Lee  at  Cold  Harbor  in  1864,  or  with  General 
Grant  in  Appomattox  (in  other  volumes  from  other  pens) 
will  have  a  more  detailed  account  of  those  halcyon  days 
in  which  the  South  developed  such  strength  as  she  showed 
in  1861  and  '65. 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  writer,  in  justifying 
his  own  people — in  vindicating  his  own  mother  and  father, 
has  entered  into  no  argument  with  Mrs.  Stowe.  He  has 
simply  answered  her  book,  not  by  dialectics  but  by  statis- 
tics— not  by  getting  into  a  bad  humor  but  by  stern  facts. 
Did  time  and  space  allow,  gladly  would  the  writer  go 
on,  enlarging  upon  those  social  features  of  Southern 
life  in  the  ante-bellum  civilization  which  so  strikingly 
characterized  the  old  South  in  Georgia.,  Kentucky,  Mary- 
land and  Texas — in  fine,  all  over  this  lovely  portion  of 
the  country.  He  would  gladly  lead  you  into  the  boy- 
hood homes  of  the  Hamptons  in  South  Carolina,  the  Hills 


196  The  Old  Plantation. 

in  Georgia,  the  Breckenridges  and  Crittendens  in  Ken- 
tucky, the  Yanceys  and  Currys  in  Alabama,  where  you 
would  at  once  recognize  the  identity,  except  in  shaded  de- 
tails, of  those  forces  in  all  her  fair  borders  which  made 
the  old  South  what  she  was,  the  idol  of  her  own  people 
and,  from  many  points  of  view,  the  admiration  of  the 
world. 

He  sincerely  hopes  that  none  of  his  readers  will  regard 
this  volume  as  either  partial  or  provincial,  because  he  lays 
the  scene  of  his  recitals  in  one  chamber  of  the  old  South- 
ern plantation  home  (and  that  the  North  Carolina  room) 
while  he  knows,  and  you  know  that  from  the  Susquehanna 
to  the  Bio  Grande  the  same  roof-tree,  with  umbrageous 
branches,  covered  the  same  people,  the  product  of  the  same 
institutional  forces,  speaking  in  varied  dialect  the  same 
language,  listening  to  the  same  song  birds,  strengthened 
by  the  same  traditions,  gladdened  by  the  same  folk-lore, 
while  in  childhood  we  drank  in  the  same  lullabies  from 
mothers  trained  to  high  duty,  and  were  inspired  by  fath- 
ers incited  to  the  prowess  and  manliness  of  their  ancestral 
'  standards  with  such  hallowed  and  hallowing  community 
of  suffering  as,  please  God,  has  enabled  the  whole  South  to 
puffer  and  grow  strong. 

f  Having  in  the  pages  of  this  volume,  looked  upon  one 
picture ;  pardon  the  writer  if,  with  a  sad  heart,  he  now  asks 
you  to  look  upon  another  portraiture — that  of  the  present 
condition  of  a  manumitted  and  enfranchised  race — the 
same  race,  only  under  very  changed  conditions.  We  sub- 
mit, in  all  candor,  that  neither  in  uplift  of  character  nor 
any  qualification  for  happiness  or  usefulness  has  the  negro, 
as  a  race,  been  improved  by  the  change.  The  writer  may 
be  pardoned  if  he  introduces  some  current  testimony  from 
the  Philadelphia  Record,  as  startling  as  it  is  suggestive: 

"In  an  address  recently  delivered  by  Professor  Wilcox 
of  Cornell  University,  before  the  American  Science  Social 
Association  at  Saratoga,  he  showed  crime  is  very  largely 
on  the  increase  among  the  negro  population  of  the  country. 
But  the  most  startling  fact  shown  was  that  the  negroes  in 
the  Northern  States  are  worse  by  far  than  the  negroes  in 


The  Old  Plantation.  197 

tide  Southern  States.  While  there  are  twenty-nine  black 
men  imprisoned  in  the  South,  out  of  every  ten  thousand, 
in  the  North  the  proportion  is  sixty-nine  out  of  every  ten 
thousand.  This  disparity  can  hardly  be  explained  as  a 
matter  of  latitude.  In  the  North  there  are  larger  oppor- 
tunities of  education,  but  possibly  a  lesser  opportunity 
of  profitable  employment  and  a  more  uncompromising 
prejudice  of  race.  Talk  as  we  may  of  the  difficulties  the 
nation  has  been  called  upon  to  contend  with  in  dealing  with 
the  mixed  races  in  the  East  and  West  Indies,  the  problem 
is  not  more  complex  than  our  immediate  home  problem; 
and  our  hundred  years  of  experience  has  not  furnished  a 
solution." 

Twenty-nine  black  men  imprisoned  in  the  South  to  sixty- 
nine  black  men  in  the  North,  out  of  every  ten  thousand  of 
negro  population  of  the  two  sections,  is  truly  startling. 
"In  the  North  there  are  larger  opportunities  of  education/' 
says  the  Record,  notwithstanding  which  there  are  more 
than  double  the  number  of  criminals  compared  with  the 
South.  This  particular  feature  merits  very  careful  con- 
sideration and  investigation.  Do  the  "larger  opportunities 
of  education"  tend  to  development  of  the  criminal  instinct 
to  a  greater  degree  in  the  negro  than  in  the  white  race? 

But  the  further  statement,  which  may  be  taken  rather 
as  the  explanation  of  this  difference,  is  entitled  to  the  at- 
tention of  the  colored  people  themselves.  It  is  a  fact  that 
the  Southern  whites  are  the  only  real  friends  the  negroes 
have,  ever  have  had,  or  ever  will  have,  but  which  these 
same  misguided  people  have  stubbornly  refused  to  believe. 
The  Record  admits,  notwithstanding  the  "larger  opportuni- 
ties of  education,"  even  to  the  extent  of  mixed  schools 
in  most  of  the  Northern  States  which  may  have  contrib- 
uted largely  to  the  demoralization  of  the  negro — "there  is 
possibly  a  lesser  opportunity  of  profitable  employment  and 
a  more  uncompromising  prejudice  of  race."  This  is  both 
an  honest  and,  we  believe,  a  truthful  statement.  And  this 
condition,  mark  you,  kind  reader,  exists  where  there  are 
only  hundreds  of  negroes  to  thousands  in  the  South.  All 
of  which  suggests  the  inquiry,  Has  not  the  South  been  en« 


198  The  Old  Plantation. 

titled  to,  and  is  it  not  deserving  to-day  of  more  of  sym- 
pathy than  of  the  censure  it  has  received  at  the  hands  of 
the  Northern  people  for  her  efforts  to  solve  the  problem  of 
self  preservation,  while  at  the  same  time  she  treats  the 
negro  humanely  ?  Glad,  indeed,  are  we  to  state  that  from 
frequent  expressions  of  late,  similar  to  that  quoted  above 
from  the  Record,  all  true  patriots  are  warranted  in  thinking 
that  the  Northern  people  and  press  are  awakening  to  the 
awful  ordeal  through  which  the  South  has  passed  and 
through  which  it  is  still  endeavoring  to  pass,  and  in  conse- 
quence are  more  disposed  to  do  justice  to  all  concerned. 
Let  us  hope  a  more  enlightened  and  a  juster  sentiment  is 
developing  in  all  sections  of  the  country,  amid  the  clos- 
ing hours  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Had  we  time,  dear  reader,  before  you  and  I  say  "Hail 
and  Farewell  I"  gladly  would  we  go  back  to  the  old  home 
and  enjoy  ourselves  once  more  at  the  dear  old  planter's 
hospitable  dinner  table.  Well,  let  us  go,  anyhow,  for  we 
shall  not  enjoy  such  royal  company  again  for  a  long  time, 
if  ever.  Handy  is  ringing  the  dinner  bell,  and  with  the  old 
planter  in  walk  a  few  of  his  close  friends.  As  they  sit 
down  at  the  table  let  us  look  at  them  somewhat  closely 
and  observe  the  tine  products  of  the  old  plantation  social 
forces.  Whose  is  that  benevolent  face  on  the  right  hand 
of  the  planter?  That  is  the  Honorable  Williani  Horn 
Battle,  now  of  the  Circuit  Court  Bench  of  the  State  and 
later  on  of  the  Supreme  Court  Bench,  at  a  time  when  the 
people  honored  themselves  in  the  selection  of  such  gentle- 
men as  the  elder  Thomas  Euffin  and  Eichard  M.  Pearson 
as  judges,  not  for  a  term  of  years,  but  for  life  or  good  be- 
havior. Judge  Battle  is  spending  the  interval  between 
Jones  and  Onslow  courts  with  my  father.  In  point  of  high 
character  and  the  fine  forms  of  great  usefulness,  the  State 
has  had  no  son  more  highly  respected  or  beloved;  nor  has 
she  produced  one  whose  children  can,  with  greater  cause, 
rise  up  and  call  his  memory  blessed.  The  gentleman  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table  is  the  Honorable  William 
Shepperd  Ashe,  M.C.,  the  closest  personal  friend  my  father 
ever  had.  For  years  he  represented  his  district  in  Con- 
gress, having  fully  intrenched  himself  in  the  confidence 


The  Old  Plantation.  199 

and  high  esteem  of  the  State  in  the  Legislature.  Later 
in  life  and  notably  so  during  the  war,  he  devoted  himself 
with  marked  ability  and  high  success  to  the  railroad  trans- 
portation of  the  South,  in  which  he  greatly  distinguished 
himself  in  that  he  rendered  invaluable  services  to  the  peo- 
ple in  this  most  important  department.  Of  distinguished 
Colonial  and  Revolutionary  ancestry,  which  he  honored  by 
a  long  line  of  useful  service,  his  very  strongest  feature 
of  character  was  his  supreme  loyalty  to  his  friends,  who> 
in  his  tender  judgment,  could  do  no  wrong;  even  if  the 
correlation  of  this  be  true  of  him,  that  his  enemy  could 
do  no  right.  In  many  ways  his  son,  Captain  Samuel  A. 
Ashe,  of  Raleigh,  North  Carolina,  reminds  his  friends  very 
strikingly  of  his  noble  father.  The  other  gentleman,  is  the 
Honorable  Thomas  Ruffin,  a  member  of  the  North  Carolina 
Bar,  but  more  strikingly  distinguished  as  a  member  of 
Congress  and  still  later  on  as  a  colonel  of  cavalry  in  the 
army  of  Northern  Virginia;  where,  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment,  he  laid  down  his  life  in  defense  of  the  principles 
of  government  for  which  he  had  battled  so  nobly  on  the 
floors  of  Congress.  All  over  the  fair  South,  dear  reader, 
might  you  have  looked  upon  just  such  pictures  of  high 
character  and  marked  ability.  But  the  writer  has  drawn 
this  one,  in  order  that  the  character  of  the  products  of  the 
old  plantation  life  might  stand  out  in  bold  relief  before 
you. 

There  are  many  portions  of  the  old  South  which  I  would 
gladly  visit  with  you,  but  the  time  is  close  at  hand  when 
you  and  I  must  part.  I  would  gladly  go  with  you  to 
Edgecombe  and  Orange  counties;  to  those  two  dear  old 
Colonial  towns,  Wilmington  and  New  Berne ;  to  the  Pied- 
mont section  of  the  State,  at  Morganton  and  elsewhere, 
there;  to  the  Valley  of  the  French  Broad  in  Buncombe 
and  other  picturesque  counties ;  in  fine,  all  over  the  State ; 
assured  that  you  would  readily  account  for  the  population 
from  the  country  they  inhabit,  in  part,  but  mainly  from 
the  religious  home  life  they  led,  with  the  uplift  given 
them,  each  man  " dwelling  under  his  own  vine  and  figtree ;" 
with  the  fine  social  forces  of  the  old  plantation  life,  under 
which  they  were  taught  "to  eat  no  dirt,  spit  no  fire,  ride 


200  The  Old  Plantation. 

a  horse  and  speak  the  truth."  In  whatever  direction  you 
might  look  or  go,  dear  reader,  whether  amid  the  savannahs 
of  the  Gulf  states  or  the  broad  rolling  prairies  of  Texas, 
amid  the  blue-grass  country  of  Kentucky  or  along  the  now 
classic  streams  of  Maryland  and  Virginia — all  over  the 
Southland  this  picture  would  have  been  reproduced,  with 
only  some  slight  differences  in  light  and  shade. 

Like  the  last  of  the  Mohicans,  the  old  planter  and  his 
race  are  dead. 

"The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 
The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 
For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
No  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care, 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knee,  the  envied  kiss  to  share." 

Dead  and  yet  to  memory  dear.  Yes !  Yes !  They  will 
live  as  long  as  Memory  is  true  to  her  trust  and  Virtue 
stands  crowned  by  a  grateful  posterity.  This  book 
"The  Old  Plantation,"  may  be  read  by  few  or  many. 
It  matters  not.  But  the  heart  in  the  old  life — the 
socialchaxCQi  in  the  old  life — the  loving  confidence  be- 
twSenxhe  two  races  in  the  old  life — the  high  integrity 
in  politics  and  devotion  to  the  Constitution  of  the  old  life 
— the  beautiful  form  of  womanhood  with  the  striking  type 
of  manhood  in  the  old  life — all  growing  out  of  their  relig- 
ious homes,  faithfully  guarded,  under  the  conservative 
forces  of  the  old  life — these — these  shall  never  fade  away. 
Old  planter !  hail  and  farewell !  but  not  forever,  for  we 
shall  meet  again  on  the  bright  plains  of  the  Great  Beyond, 
where  no  "civil  equalities"  exist,  but  where  justice,  holding 
the  scales,  is  administered  by  a  God  of  Love.  Hail  and 
farewell!  Zoe  mou  sas  agapoe!  "'By  my  life  I  love 
you/' 

THE 

END. 


> 


The  Old  Plantation.  201 

4 


y^ 


1 

i 


EPILOGUE. 

It  may  be  true,  aye,  it  is  true,  that  Southern  nation- 
ality is  a  dream  of  the  past.  A  gulf,  beyond  which  we 
could  not  pass,  yawned  between  us  and  the  realization  of 
our  hopes;  and  though  bright  flowers  bloomed  upon  its 
brink  and  wafted  us  sweet  perfume,  we  could  not  cross 
to  gather  them.  The  Southern  Cross  no  longer  gleams 
out  amid  the  wild  light  of  .battle;  the  sword  of  the  van- 
quished is  sheathed,  and  the  land  is  gloomy  with  the  harm- 
less sepulchers  of  our  martyred  dead.  But  when  years  and 
years  shall  have  passed  away — when  the  last  of  the  present 
generation  sleeps  with  their  fathers  and  new  forms 
throng  the  old  familiar  places — when  faction  shall  have 
hushed  and  justice  holds  the  scales,  then  as  bright  as  day 
and  as  free  from  blemish  and  stain  will  stand  forth  in 
bright  relief  upon  the  scroll  of  historic  fame  the  record  of 
the  old  plantation  South,  dearer  to  the  hearts  of  her  chil- 
dren now  in  the  hour  of  sorrow  that  when  on  the  march  to 
victory  she  won  the  admiration  of  the  world.  Pilgrims 
from  other  lands  shall  tread  with  reverent  step  above  the 
spot  where  molders  the  dust  of  our  loved  and  lost;  while 
those  who  are  to  follow  us  will  cherish  as  household  gods 
the  names  of  those  who,  carving  their  way  through  the 
fiery  path  of  war,  have  written  their  names  where  they 
can  never  die.  The  old  plantation  home  life  is  dead,  and 
the  principles  for  which  so  many  laid  down  their  lives  may 
not  be  recognized  until  their  names  have  grown  feeble  on 
the  tongue  of  friendship*  and  been  dropped  in  dead  silence 
from  the  ear  of  the  world.    But  it  is  struggling  back  from 


A. 


«a 


202  The  Old  Plantation. 

the  hollow  bosom  that  once  bled  for  it,  and  will  ascend  the 
heights  of  government  at  the  hands  of  a  reunited  and 
strengthened  people,  with  no  sectional  triumph  upon  it. 
And  when  the  faithful  historian  shall  descend  into  the 
vaults  of  the  dead  past  in  quest  of  traditions  of  liberty,  and 
in  honest  search  for  the  facts  of  history,  he  will  then  dis- 
cover to  whom  the  world  is  indebted  for  the  perpetuation 
of  the  republic.  He  will  find  that  in  the  old  home  life  of 
the  South,  where  such  men  as  Macon  and  Gaston  of  North 
Carolina  taught  posterity  to  revere  the  Constitution  and 
to  love  liberty,  the  very  finest  forms  of  loyalty  and  patriot- 
ism were  installed. 


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"*ri^^*'.'^^  „    FINIS-   f '  m   tJU«- 


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